Indraprastha was alive with joy. The air hummed with the sound of conches, veenas, and laughter as the kingdom celebrated the birth of a princess. Every house was lit with lamps, and fragrant garlands adorned the city streets. A new star had descended upon their world, and the entire land had come together to witness her arrival.

For the first time in ages, all the great houses of Aryavarta stood under one roof. Every kingdom had sent its finest to bless the newborn child from Panchala to Dwaraka, Manalura to Sivi, and Kashi to Hastinapur. Even Hastinapur's once-distant rulers, Gandhari and Dritarashtra, had arrived, their faces unreadable as they stood among the gathered royalty.

As the voices of the assembly quieted, two of the greatest sages of the age, Maharishi Atri and Maharishi Vashishtha, turned toward Draupadi and Arjuna. Their presence alone commanded reverence, for these men had witnessed time cycles unfold before their eyes. "Arjuna, Draupadi," Atri's voice rang deep with wisdom, "bring forth your son."

A hush fell as Arjuna gently placed his infant son in their arms. The moment the child rested in the sages' grasp, an unseen force rippled through the air. A tremor, barely perceptible but potent, passed through the assembly. Atri and Vashishtha exchanged knowing smiles. "This child..." Atri murmured, his eyes gleaming with a divine realization. "Arjuna, your son will be invincible—like Abhimanyu. But unlike him, he is not merely a warrior. He is a born warrior."

Draupadi, ever the mother with a fierce heart, frowned. "Gurudeva," she questioned, "all my sons are warriors. Why such specific mention of this one?"

Vashishtha's smile was gentle but carried the weight of ancient knowledge. "This child," he said, his voice measured and clear, "holds the knowledge of Rudra Astra." A gasp echoed through the chamber. Rudra Astra was Mahadeva's celestial weapon—a weapon that could not be countered and could turn the tide of wars.

The weight of the revelation settled upon the room, but Vashishtha was not done. "At any given point in time," he continued, "his arrows will not miss their mark. He will be a master strategist, countering every move before it happens. Even warriors like Vasusena, Drona, and Bhishma men, whose presence on the battlefield shifts the course of the war, will find it impossible to strike him. For he will know their attack before it even leaves their hands."

Murmurs of disbelief swept through the assembly. A child who could see battles before they happened? Such a warrior had never been born before. Yet, amidst the awed whispers, three voices burned with unspoken resentment: Stambhinī, Krodhini, and Dritarashtra. They alone did not celebrate. They alone cursed fate.

Maharishi Atri, unfazed by their displeasure, continued. "This child," he declared, "will wield unparalleled mastery over Astra-Vidya, Kalarippayattu, and Malla-Yuddha. No warrior will stand a chance against him in single combat."

A delighted chuckle broke the tension.

Bhima, grinning ear to ear, clapped his hands. "Finally! Someone born who shares my kind of fighting!" His booming laughter filled the hall, easing the charged atmosphere as even the solemn sages chuckled.

But the laughter was short-lived. Atri and Vashishtha turned their gaze toward Yuyutsu. Yuyutsu Mahadeva's mortal avatar nodded slightly, already knowing what was coming. Then, the sages turned back to Draupadi. "Putri," Vashishtha said, his voice gentle yet unyielding, "it is time."

Draupadi's heart clenched. "Time?" she whispered. "Time for what?"

"Your five sons must leave for Kailash." The words struck her like a storm.

Her hands instinctively tightened around her newborn, her mother's heart rebelling at the very thought. "But you said it wasn't needed when Prativindhya was born," she argued, her voice laced with desperation. "Why now? And this child in your hands is only days old! How can I let him go?"

Vashishtha's gaze softened. "Do not fret, Putri. I understand your pain. You speak with a mother's concern, and rightly so."

"But," Atri interjected firmly, "remember this. Your five sons are the most unique children in all of Aryavarta. Each carries a distinct power, and each is born to restore Dharma. Their destiny demands preparation. Mahadeva himself must train them."

Draupadi's breath hitched. And then came the next blow. "Not just them," Vashishtha continued, "Putri Sharvisha must go as well."

The revelation stunned everyone. Bhishma, who had already grown attached to the girl child, frowned. "But Gurudeva," he protested, "Sharvisha is just days old."

Atri smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "Devavrata," he said, "you, more than anyone, know this child is not ordinary. Like her mother. Like her father. Sharvisha must receive her education from Mahadeva himself."

Then came the final shock. "Along with these six children," Atri declared, "Yuyutsu too will go to Kailash to guide them."

Silence. No one had expected that. Even Yudhishthira, ever the composed one, looked visibly shaken. "Yuyutsu?" he repeated, confirming he had heard correctly.

Atri nodded. "Yes. And none of them will return until their training is complete."

A heavy stillness settled over the assembly. Then, Vashishtha turned once more to Arjuna and Draupadi. His voice was steady, unwavering. "This son of yours," he said, "shall be named Śrutakarma."

Tears welled in Draupadi's eyes. Her heart warred with itself, one part clinging to her children, the other knowing destiny had already claimed them. She looked toward Niyati. Toward Krishna. Neither spoke, but their eyes said everything.

She knew what she had to do. Draupadi inhaled deeply, her voice thick with emotion yet resolute. "I agree," she said, her words sealing fate. "I will send my sons to Kailash."

A solemn hush followed. Then, from somewhere beyond, a cold wind whispered through the halls of Indraprastha as if in response to her words.

The Departure to Kailash

The grand gates of Indraprastha stood wide open, their golden engravings glistening under the morning sun. The air was thick with emotions of pride, sorrow, and an unspoken fear of separation. The royal family, nobles, sages, and even the commoners had gathered to witness a departure unlike any other.

Gandhari and Dritarashtra stood among them, an unusual sight in the kingdom of the Pandavas. They had come to bid farewell and bless the children leaving for their divine education. Gandhari, draped in her pristine white silk, bent down and kissed Sharvisha's tiny forehead, her fingers lingering in a rare moment of warmth. "May you surpass even the greatest of warriors, little one," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotions she never usually expressed. Dritarashtra, silent as ever, merely placed his large, calloused hand on Sharvisha's head, a silent blessing and acknowledgement.

Bhishma held the newborn princess, his grip firm yet gentle, as if the fragile child were his life's purpose. Nakula, ever observant, couldn't help but tease, "Pitamah, it seems today we have discovered your favourite grandchild."

Bhishma's chuckle was deep, filled with nostalgia and unshakable affection. "Putra, Yuyutsu has always been special to me. He has endured trials no man should, yet he has never strayed from his dharma. When I took him under my wing, I saw not just a boy but a man who understood when to stand and when to bow." His gaze softened as he turned toward Niyati. "And my bond with Niyati... you all know how deep that runs. She is the very reason my dharma remains untainted. And this child, Putri Sharvisha, is their daughter, the only princess of Indraprastha. How can I not love her?"

Then, with utmost reverence, he placed Sharvisha back in Yuyutsu's arms. His solemn yet affectionate voice rang through the air, "This Bhishma shall always be at your heed, Putri. This Prapitamah will look after you. And when you return, I will train you to be the greatest warrior princess Aryavarta has ever known." A gentle laugh rippled through the crowd, breaking the moment's heaviness.

Draupadi stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I didn't even get enough time to shower my love on Sharvisha, and now you are taking her away from me, Brata," she said, her voice breaking. Then, with a queen's grace and a mother's tenderness, she placed two tiny anklets in Yuyutsu's hand.

"I know Mahadev may not accept worldly possessions once he takes a disciple under him," she pleaded, "but tell him these are not mere ornaments. These are a mother's love and blessings. These anklets will grow with her, just as my love will. Please ask him not to take these away from her."

Yuyutsu looked at her for a long moment before offering a reassuring smile. "Mahadeva will not take them away, Panchali. I promise you."

The moment was heavy, too heavy. And Yuyutsu, ever the calm before the storm, turned his gaze toward Krishna and Niyati. His expression was unreadable, but his words carried the weight of an oath. "I am going now. In the next twelve years, I will not return. But no matter how far I am, you both know how to reach me."

A smirk played on Arjuna's lips as he cut in, "Telepathically. And yet, you never thought to teach us?"

Yuyutsu chuckled, shaking his head before turning one last time to the Pandavas. But he finally faced Dritarashtra and Gandhari, his voice shifting into something neither soft nor sharp, heavy with a truth they weren't ready to hear. "Until now, Mahadev has ignored the sins committed by your sons because Maharani Gandhari is his bhakt," he said, his words deliberate, unwavering. "But even the Gods must answer to fate. Remember how Mahadev ensured Tarakasura's end through his son Kartikeya? In the same way, do not think your sins will be overlooked forever. One day, when you realize what is happening is wrong, stop it, Pitashree. If you don't, fate will play its game. And when that moment arrives, no mortal can escape it. The doom of your family will begin with a count one, then another, then another until there is nothing left to count."

His words left an eerie silence in their wake. Gandhari stood frozen, her breath hitching as though she had glimpsed something far beyond this moment. Dritarashtra clenched his fists, his blind eyes betraying no emotion, yet his entire body tensed. The others exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of the meaning hidden within Yuyutsu's ominous farewell. Without another word, Yuyutsu turned and walked away, leading the six children toward their fate in the mountains where time bowed to Mahadev, where destiny was shaped not by men but by the divine.

A Mother's Envy

Away from the joyous gathering, within the inner chambers, two voices rose sharp, bitter, edged with something more profound than anger.

Krodhini and Stambhinī sat together, their faces drawn in displeasure, their hands clenched in frustration. Their children, their blood, had not been chosen. Once again, Draupadi's sons stood above theirs, selected for an honour beyond imagination. Why was the privilege of learning under Mahadeva himself denied to Vrishasena, Banasena, Sushena, Bhanusena, Prasenjit, Satyasena and Dvipata? Were they not warriors, too? Were they not worthy?

Krodhini's eyes burned with resentment as she spat out, "Why, Stambhinī? Why is it always them? Why only Draupadi's sons? What makes them so special? Are our sons, not Pandavas, too? Do they not have the blood of warriors flowing through their veins?"

Stambhinī, equally enraged, nodded, her voice laced with bitterness. "Every time, it is Draupadi's children who are glorified! Her sons will become warriors of legend, while ours will always be in their shadows! Why was Vrishasena not sent? Or Banasena? Tell me, what flaw do they have?"

Their fury simmered between them, their grievances feeding off each other. Unbeknownst to them, Vasusena had been approaching. The moment he heard his wives' anger-laced words, he halted. A quiet sigh left his lips as he stepped into the chamber, his golden eyes filled with something unreadable, understanding, yet firm resolve. "Why do you speak like this?" His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that silenced them for a moment.

Krodhini turned to him, eyes blazing. "And what do you expect us to say, Arya? Do you not feel the same? Do you not see the injustice? Why were our sons not chosen?"

Vasusena exhaled slowly. He had expected this reaction, yet it still pained him. "Priye, tell me," he asked, his tone measured, "when did we start seeing our children as lesser?"

Stambhinī scowled. "It is not about seeing them as lesser. It is about fairness! It is about how they will never get what Draupadi's children receive. Today, it is Kailash. Tomorrow, it will be something else. Always them. Never ours."

Vasusena shook his head. "You think it is a privilege? To leave their homes, their mother's warmth, to step into a world where only God can guide them? It is not a blessing but a responsibility, a burden they must bear."

He took a step closer, his voice growing firmer. "And do you truly believe that our sons are weak? That they must walk the same path as another to be great? Is our worth measured only by the path someone else takes?"

The words hit Krodhini and Stambhinī like a blow. "Our children will find their destiny. They do not need the same path as Draupadi's sons to become warriors. I will train them myself if I must, but I will not let them walk with jealousy in their hearts. We are not ordinary parents, Krodhini and Stambhinī. We are warriors. We raise warriors. And warriors do not beg for another man's fate; they carve their own."

A deep silence filled the chamber. And then, another voice spoke from the doorway. "You should listen to your husband."

Gandhari.

Her presence was commanding as she stepped in, Dritarashtra at her side. Though blind, he seemed to sense the essence of the room's tension.

Krodhini and Stambhinī immediately bowed, but Gandhari did not let them speak. Her voice was sharper than ever before. "Jealousy clouds judgment. And judgment lost is destruction invited."

She stepped forward, her movements slow but deliberate. "You claim unfairness? Then tell me, will you trade places with Draupadi? Will you bear her battles, her wounds, her burdens? Will you bear the agony of sending your children away with no certainty of their return?"

Krodhini and Stambhinī looked down, unable to answer. "You are mothers. And yet, you curse the fate of your children. Do you think strength lies in being chosen for divine education? No. Strength lies in those who forge their path with what is given them."

Her following words were cold, cutting through the air like a blade. "You are wives of Suryaputr. Act like it. Do not disgrace your sons with your insecurities. If they ever hear you speak like this, they will grow to believe they are lesser. Do you want that?"

Silence.

Finally, Krodhini and Stambhinī lowered their heads. "We...we only wanted what was best for them," Stambhinī whispered.

Vasusena placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then trust in them. Trust in their path. And trust in me."

Gandhari turned away, her voice softer now. "Let this be the last time I hear such words. Or you will answer to me."

And with that, she left, Dritarashtra following behind her. Vasusena let out a slow breath before looking back at his wives. "Enough of this. Our sons will shine, but only if we let them." For the first time that night, Krodhini and Stambhinī fell silent—not in anger, but in thought.

A Clash of Egos

After what seemed like an eternity, the lost son returned to Hastinapur. Ashwatthama stood tall in his father's chamber, the weight of time and battle etched into his face. Before him, Drona and Kripi stood frozen, unable to believe the sight before them. And then, in a moment, Drona stepped forward, arms wrapping around his son in an embrace filled with relief, longing, and unanswered questions. "Ashwatthama," Drona murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Where have you been for all these years? What have you been doing? The last time I saw you, you left for Kalinga, and now... it has been over a decade."

His voice had no anger, only the deep ache of a father who had spent years wondering, waiting, and hoping.

Ashwatthama's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Pitashree, I went to our ancestor, Pitamah Bharadwaj. And do you know what?" His eyes gleamed with triumph. "I have ensured I get the Narayan Astra from him."

Drona's breath hitched. His hands gripped Ashwatthama's shoulders, and for the first time in years, there was something close to pride in his gaze. "Narayan Astra..." he whispered as if tasting the power in the name itself. "Putr, you have done what even the greatest warriors of Aryavarta could not. You have returned stronger than ever."

Hurried footsteps broke the silence of a messenger. "Acharya," the man bowed, "Yuvraj Suyodhana is waiting for Ashwatthama. He requests his presence immediately."

Drona's eyes flickered with concern. "I will come with you."

But Ashwatthama shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "No, Pitashree. This is my battle. They won't do anything to me. They need me."

Drona hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Be careful, Putr."

Ashwatthama left without another word. The air in the royal chamber was thick and tense when Ashwatthama entered. Seated on his throne, Suyodhan's gaze burned with restrained fury. Beside him stood Dusshasan, his hand already twitching toward his weapon. A few others, including Abhaya, watched silently at the far end of the room.

Suyodhana did not rise. His voice was cold when he spoke. "You call yourself my Mitr, Ashwatthama. But where were you when I needed you the most? You left the battlefield when I was being taken away during the Kalinga Swayamvar. You abandoned me." His eyes darkened. "How do you expect me to forgive you? Why are you even here?"

Ashwatthama did not flinch. Instead, he smirked, stepping closer, his presence demanding attention. "Yes," he admitted, tilting his head. "I did leave. But now I am back. And not as the man I was before. I have the Narayan Astra from my Pitamah. Not just many more astras to bring the Pandavas to their knees." His voice was sharp, unyielding. "Now, it is on you, Suyodhana. Do you want me or not?"

Suyodhan's jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Ashwatthama leaned in slightly, his following words cutting like a blade. "And never say we were Mitr. You need me. And I... I need you. It's a business deal, nothing more. Don't you agree?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Duhsasana, blinded by rage, moved before he even thought his hand raised, ready to strike. But a voice stopped him just as his palm was about to land. "Not now."

Suyodhan's command was firm. His eyes locked onto Ashwatthama's, and something dangerous flickered within them. Ashwatthama smirked again, but this time, his eyes held an emotion even Suyodhana couldn't quite read before leaving the chambers. "He is right," Suyodhana murmured, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. "We need him."

Dusshasan stepped back reluctantly, though the hatred in his gaze did not fade. Abhaya, watching the exchange, frowned. "Why, Brata? Why do we need him?"

Suyodhana let out a slow breath, his lips curling into a dark smile. "Because he is the only one who can stop Guru Drona from leaving us. And right now, we need Guru Drona more than anything." His gaze hardened. "But the day my wish is fulfilled, the day the Pandavas are erased from this world, I will personally kill this filthy Brahman myself." A cruel, knowing silence settled in the room.

The Celestial Hall

Maya Danava, standing before Arjuna with folded hands, his voice filled with gratitude and reverence, spoke with utmost humility, "O Partha, you have saved me from Krishna's wrath and the consuming fire of Pavaka. I owe my life to you. Tell me, O son of Kunti, what can I do to repay this debt?" His words were soft yet urgent, carrying the weight of genuine devotion.

Arjuna, ever magnanimous, smiled and said, "O great Asura, there is no debt between us. Consider yourself free. Your gratitude itself is a great offering. Go where you please, and may your heart always bear goodwill towards us." His words were light, yet they carried the depth of his character, a refusal to hold anyone bound by favours.

Maya Danava, however, was not satisfied. "O Arjuna, what you have spoken is truly worthy of you, but I am no ordinary being. I am a master of creation, a Vishwakarma among the Danavas. Let me use my skills for you. Let me create something magnificent that shall be remembered for ages." His voice carried an eagerness to serve and the pride of an artisan whose purpose was fulfilled in creation.

Arjuna remained unmoved. "If you truly consider yourself indebted, then do something for Madhava. That would be the greatest repayment of all." His simple yet profound words reflected a truth that Maya Danava could not ignore: service to Krishna was service to the highest truth.

Krishna, who had been silently observing, now took a moment to reflect. His dark eyes gleamed with thought as if searching the threads of destiny itself. Then, in his serene voice, he spoke, "Maya, if you wish to do good for Brata Yudhishthira, then build a palace unlike any seen by the world of men. Let it be a marvel beyond imitation, a place that holds the essence of the celestial, the demonic, and the human alike. Let it stand as an embodiment of grandeur, where illusion and reality blend seamlessly."

Maya Danava's face lit up with joy. This was not merely a command but an opportunity, a challenge worthy of his craft. He set to work without hesitation, his hands moving with divine purpose.

In time, the great hall of Indraprastha was born a wonder that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Its pillars shimmered like molten gold, its floors reflected the sky like still water, and its walls bore carvings that told stories from heaven and hell alike. Gardens blossomed within, where no gardener's hands had toiled, and in the midst of it, all stood Yudhishthira, the just king, marvelling at the home that was beyond even his wildest dreams.



When Krishna and Arjuna brought Maya before Yudhishthira, the eldest Pandava welcomed him with the highest honour, bowing to the architect of wonders. Maya, in return, accepted the respect with the dignity of an actual creator, for in that moment, he knew his craft had found its most significant purpose.

Krishna's Departure

The air in Khandavaprastha was thick with an unspoken emotion—a quiet anticipation often preceding the parting of loved ones. Krishna, the universe's beloved, had spent many days among the Pandavas, showered with warmth and reverence. But now, it was time for him to leave, to return to his Yadava clan.

As he prepared for his departure, he paid his respects to each of the elders and companions. He bowed before Bhishma, Vidura, Aruni, and Vasusena with folded hands and a gentle smile. He then turned to Yudhishthira and Bhima, sharing a moment of silent understanding. Finally, with profound reverence, he lowered his head at Kunti's feet. Kunti, the ever-affectionate mother, placed her hand on his head, pressing a soft kiss there, blessing him. "May you always be victorious, Keshava," she whispered.

Krishna smiled but said nothing. He understood the weight of her words and her silent prayers for all her children, including those bound to walk different paths.

From Kunti, Krishna made his way to his sister, Subhadra. As he entered her chamber, the ever-composed Krishna found his voice thick with emotion. "Bhadre," he murmured, his large eyes soft with warmth.

Subhadra, her head bowed in respect, rushed to him and touched his feet. "Brata," she greeted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Krishna looked at her closely she was still as gentle as he remembered, but there was a quiet strength in her now. Marriage and motherhood had changed her and deepened her grace. He placed a hand on her head in blessing. "How is Abhimanyu?" he asked, his voice lighter now.

Subhadra smiled, her eyes shining with maternal pride. "He is growing up fast, brother. Sometimes, I see Arya in him and how he holds a bow and stands with his little feet firmly planted on the ground. But at times, I see you too, in the way he smiles and plays with mischief in his eyes."

Krishna chuckled. "A fine mix, then. He will be a warrior of great renown one day." His gaze turned distant momentarily, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "And he will be tested, Subhadra. Love him fiercely, but teach him well. The world does not grant warriors the softness of childhood for long."

Subhadra's smile faltered momentarily, sensing the weight behind his words. But she nodded. "I will, Brata."

Krishna reached forward and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Be strong, Subhadra. No matter what comes, you will never be alone."

From Subhadra, Krishna went to Niyati, another woman who carried the burden of fate. She stood under the shade of a grand tree, her gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in thought. "You look troubled, Bhagini," Krishna said, stepping beside her.

Niyati sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. "I'm trying, Brata. I'm trying to give this proxy fight between the Asuras and Devas a good ending. But some things never change."

Krishna studied her, his expression unreadable. "Regarding Vasusena's decisions... don't trouble yourself too much. I once tried to pull him to the Pandavas' side."

Niyati chuckled softly. "You did that to shorten the war, to reduce unnecessary bloodshed. And... because you pitied him." She turned to face Krishna fully. "But you and I both know... he is not the son of Suryadev. He is the Bhakt of Suryadev. He is Asura Dambhodbhava."

A flicker of something dark passed through Krishna's gaze, but his voice remained even. "Do you want me to kill him?"

Niyati let out a quiet laugh. "Brata, it is not me. He should die at the hands of Nar. Because the 999th time, it was you, as Narayan, who killed him. This time, it must be Arjuna."

Krishna exhaled slowly, nodding. "So... it has already happened before and will happen again."

Niyati's expression turned solemn. "The issue is not his death, Brata. Death comes for all. But if he does not die at Arjuna's hands, he will be reborn alongside Arjuna in Kaliyug... and the cycle will continue."

Krishna regarded her for a long moment before sighing. "You have changed too much of Vasusena's destiny for Suryadev's request. Now, don't interfere further. Let him make his choices. If he embraces his Asura nature, no one can save him. But... if he walks towards Dharma, then we shall see."

Niyati bowed her head in understanding. Krishna reached out, reassuringly touching her shoulder before embracing her. And with that, he turned away, stepping towards his next farewell.

As Krishna walked through the palace, he found Draupadi standing by the garden. She turned when she heard his footsteps, her expression unreadable.

"Sakhi," Krishna greeted, his voice soft. "Don't be distressed. Your children are in safe hands. If that is not your worry, tell me what troubles you?"

Draupadi sighed, folding her arms. "Sakha, I feel... something is going to happen. I don't know what. These days, Krodhini and Stambhinī's behaviour troubles me. And I feel something amiss. I cannot name it, but it lingers in my heart, making me restless. A queen should not feel this way."

Krishna's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Sakhi, you cannot control others' actions. You can only fulfil your duty, which you already do perfectly. And remember, whenever you feel things are going wrong, call me. Do not wait until the last moment."

Draupadi inhaled deeply before nodding. She lowered her head at his feet, silently seeking his blessings. Krishna placed a hand over her head, a silent promise passing between them.

When it was time for Krishna to leave, he stood surrounded by the Pandavas, shining like Indra among the gods. Arjuna stood closest, reluctant to say farewell. Having purified himself with a bath, Krishna adorned his form with fragrant flowers and ornaments. He offered prayers to the gods, bowed to the Brahmanas, and made his final preparations.

As he stepped toward his chariot, Arjuna followed. "Madhava..." he called hesitantly. Krishna turned, smiling. "Partha, do not be so solemn. We will meet again."

Still, Arjuna's heart was heavy. Krishna embraced him with a firm, reassuring touch. Then, he turned to Vasusena, Yudhishthira and Bhima, offering his respects. The twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, embraced him tightly as if trying to hold onto his presence just a little longer. As Krishna finally climbed onto his chariot, he looked at them one last time. "Take care, my brothers."

And with that, his horses galloped forward, carrying him toward Dwarka. The Pandavas stood still, their eyes fixed on him until he disappeared. Even when he was gone, their hearts followed him, unsatisfied, yearning for the warmth of Keshava's presence. Riding with Satyabhama, Pradyumna, and Samba, Krishna made his way to Dwarka in all his glory, like the mighty Indra himself.

The Chase for Justice

Shri Krishna returned to Dwaraka with his wife, Satyabhama, and their sons, and his mindset was on justice. The grief and fury of Satyabhama over her father Satrajit's murder burned in his heart. There was no hesitation in saying that Shatadhanva had to pay for his crime.

Hearing of Krishna's wrath, Shatadhanva turned to Akrura and Kritavarma, seeking allies in his desperate bid for survival. His voice quivered as he pleaded, "Help me! Protect me from Krishna's vengeance!"

But Akrura and Kritavarma, wise men who understood the nature of the Divine, refused without a second thought. "We cannot even entertain the thought of deceiving Shri Krishna," Akrura declared in his firm voice. "He is the foundation of this kingdom, the eternal Lord of all." Kritavarma nodded. "To stand against Him is to stand against fate itself."

Shatadhanva, overwhelmed with fear, felt the weight of their words. He knew he was alone. Desperation clawed at his chest. Without wasting a second, he fled, riding a female horse, his heart pounding in terror.

But justice was swift.

Krishna and Balarama mounted their chariots and gave chase, their celestial horses cutting through the land like the wind. Shatadhanva rode for a hundred yojanas, the land blurring past him. But fate was merciless; his horse collapsed, exhausted and lifeless. With no other choice, he ran, his bare feet striking the ground with frenzied steps.

Krishna did not slow. The hunt was over.

Krishna pursued him on foot with effortless grace, each step promising retribution. The moment arrived, Shatadhanva barely had time to draw breath before Sudarshana Chakra tore through the air, finding its mark with unerring precision. The criminal's head was severed, his body falling lifelessly to the ground.

But Krishna knew the truth.

Even as the dust settled, He bent down, searching through Shatadhanva's clothes. A soft chuckle escaped His lips. "He does not have the jewel," Krishna remarked to Balarama, his tone light yet filled with deeper meaning.

The Syamantaka jewel was never with Shatadhanva. It had been passed on.

Krishna called Akrura and Kritavarma, summoning them from their hiding places. The weight of their fear was evident in their cautious steps as they approached. Yadavas watched in silence as Krishna turned to Akrura, his gaze knowing. "The Syamantaka jewel is with you," Krishna stated calmly. "Show it to everyone."

Akrura's face paled, his hands trembling as he slowly revealed the famed gem. The jewel shimmered, its brilliance undeniable. Krishna turned to Balarama, his eyes filled with an unspoken message. He was no deceiver, no manipulator. The truth had always been in plain sight. Ugrasena's gaze lingered on the jewel, desire flickering in his eyes. Jambavati, Samba's mother, looked at it with quiet longing. Even Balarama seemed drawn to it.

Krishna took in the moment, then spoke decisively. "This jewel is not meant to be owned by just anyone," He declared. "Akrura, who dedicates himself to yajnas and charity giving, is the right custodian. Let it remain with him." Then, with a knowing glance at Satyabhama, Krishna smiled and added, "But if there is one person who truly deserves it, it is her."

There was no question of desire between them. Satyabhama needed nothing Krishna did not wish for. The statement was not a gift but an affirmation of her father's legacy and the justice served.

Akrura, relieved and elated, bowed deeply. He embraced the jewel's responsibility with renewed purpose, engaging himself even more in yajnas, and his devotion to righteousness strengthened. And thus, the Syamantaka found its rightful place.

The Arrival of Bhadra

Dwaraka hummed with life, its streets bustling with the rhythm of everyday duties. The scent of the ocean mixed with the fragrance of temple incense as Krishna stood in the training grounds, surrounded by his seventy sons. Laughter and the clashing of weapons echoed in the air as he taught them the art of war, his movements fluid and effortless, like the dance of a celestial being.

His grandsons tugged at his garments in another corner, giggling and begging him to play. Ever the loving father and grandfather, Krishna twirled them in his arms, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

But amidst the joy, a moment arrived.

A chariot entered the city gates, its golden crest shimmering under the sun. The royal banner of Kaikeya fluttered in the wind. Krishna did not turn. He did not need to. He already knew.

A slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips, filled with warmth, love, and something more profound. Pradyumna, ever perceptive, glanced at his father. "That smile," he murmured.

Bhanu raised a brow. "Something is about to change, isn't it?"

samba smirked. "Definitely. The question is, what?"

Krishna only chuckled, his fingers still lazily twirling his grandson's curls. He did not answer, but the anticipation in his eyes was unmistakable.

And then, she arrived—the princess of Kaikeya.

As she stepped down from the chariot, the city seemed to pause. The golden embroidery of her garments caught the sunlight. Still, her presence captured all—the daughter of King Dhrishtaketu and Queen Shrutakirti, the beloved sister of five valiant brothers.

But to Krishna, she was simply Bhadra.

His gaze, always moving, always restless, found her. And for the first time in a long while, it did not waver. Not from the grand gates. Not from the Yadavas assembled. Not even from the sounds of his children laughing behind him.

She was here.

Without another word, he followed them to the inner chambers.

Inside the grand hall, King Dhrishtaketu stood before Vasudeva, his expression composed yet carrying the weight of a father's love. The five princes of Kaikeya stood beside him, proud yet hopeful.

A moment passed. And then, the king spoke. "Vasudeva," his voice was steady, but his eyes were warm, "I have come with a request that carries the wishes of my daughter, my sons, and my heart."

Vasudeva, regal and wise, nodded. "Speak, O King of Kaikeya. Dwaraka is yours to call home."

Dhrishtaketu turned his gaze to Krishna, whose eyes still had not left Bhadra. The princess stood gracefully still, her face calm, but the depth of emotion in her eyes reflected the fire within her soul. "My daughter, Bhadra, is in love with Krishna," the king said. "She desires to be his wife, his consort."

At his words, the five princes stepped forward. They bowed their heads to Krishna and spoke in unison, their voices filled with respect and devotion. "Take her, O Govinda," they said. "Take our sister as your own."

A silence stretched through the chamber. And then Krishna smiled. A smile unlike before. A smile that held no mischief, no playfulness. Just a quiet, deep understanding. He looked at Bhadra, his voice steady yet filled with something unmistakable. "I will."

Vasudeva exhaled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Then let Dwaraka be ready for another wedding."

A joyous murmur spread through the chamber. But before the moment could settle, a voice rang out, laced with humour.

Kavi, the son of Krishna and Kālindī, leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his grin unmistakable. "It might be for the first time that Pitashree's wedding is happening with such love and blessings," he remarked. "Otherwise, he has to kill someone or elope with the princess every other time."

Laughter erupted. Pradyumna clapped Kavi's shoulder, shaking his head. Bhanu chuckled, shaking with mirth. Samba smirked, nudging his father playfully. Even Vasudeva let out a chuckle, and Dhrishtaketu's sons laughed heartily.

But Krishna did not laugh. His gaze remained on Bhadra—a gaze filled with something beyond time.

The Birth of the Divine Sabha

At Indraprastha, within the grandeur of the Pandava kingdom, Maya Danava, the most significant architect among the Asuras, stood before Arjuna, the foremost warrior, his voice resonating with deep reverence. "Arjuna," he said, his gaze steady, "With your leave, I shall now depart, but I will return soon. Far in the north of Kailasa, near the towering peaks of Mainaka, lies the sacred lake called Vindu. Once, long ago, as the Danavas performed a mighty sacrifice on its banks, I gathered immense treasure gems of every hue, dazzling and pure. These were entrusted to the mansion of the noble Vrishaparva, a king ever devoted to truth. If that treasure remains untouched by time, I shall return it."

His dark eyes gleamed as he continued, "But that is not all; in the depths of Vindu Lake, there rests a club of unfathomable strength placed there by the King of the Danavas himself after he wielded it to annihilate his enemies in battle. Heavy as a mountain adorned with golden knobs, it bears the strength of a hundred thousand clubs combined. This is no ordinary weapon! It is a weapon meant only for Bhima, just as the Gandiva is meant only for you."

A brief silence followed, heavy with meaning. Then, Maya Danava's voice took on a tone of mystery. "And yet another treasure is hidden within that lake, a conch of celestial origin known as Devadatta. The mighty Varuna himself once held it, and its sound is like the roar of a thousand thunders. This, O Partha, is destined to be yours."

He bowed respectfully and turned toward the northeast without another word, his form shimmering as he vanished into the horizon. Maya Danava journeyed northward through dense forests and mist-laden valleys. The path led him to a place of unparalleled splendour, a land where the divine and the earthly met in perfect harmony.

Beyond the majestic Kailasa stood Mount Mainaka, its peaks kissed by golden sunlight. Nestled within its embrace was Hiranyashringa, an illustrious peak famed for its inexhaustible wealth of gems. And there, reflecting the heavens themselves, was the lake Vindu. In this sacred place, King Bhagiratha had once performed penances to bring down the celestial Ganga, forever etching his name in legend.

This was no ordinary land. Indra, the thousand-eyed lord of the heavens, had attained supreme success here. Brahma, Yama, Sthanu (Shiva), and the divine twins Nara and Narayana made their sacrifices at the end of a thousand yugas. And it was upon these shores that Keshava himself had, for a thousand years, placed golden sacrificial stakes, each encrusted with gems, as a tribute to Dharma.

Maya Danava, knowing the sacredness of this place, stepped forward with reverence. His eyes sought what he had come for, the treasures long hidden beneath the waters. Plunging into the lake, Maya Danava retrieved the colossal club the embodiment of destruction and the mighty conch Devadatta. The ancient treasures, once guarded by the King of the Danavas, now belonged to the Pandavas. Alongside these, he gathered the priceless gems from Vrishaparva's mansion, materials of unparalleled beauty destined for the great Sabha he was to build.

Summoning the Rakshasa servants who followed his command, Maya Danava bore these treasures upon celestial chariots and turned back toward Indraprastha. His purpose was clear: erecting a palace beyond mortal imagination, a Sabha that would symbolize Indraprastha's unmatched glory.

Fourteen months passed, and under Maya Danava's expert hands, the most incredible assembly hall ever created came into existence. When it was finally completed, Indraprastha beheld a marvel rivalling even the gods' celestial courts.

This was no mere mortal structure. The pillars, carved from pure gold, rose toward the sky, their surfaces gleaming with embedded gems. The circumference of the Sabha spanned ten thousand kishku, its divine radiance equal to the brilliance of the sun, moon, and fire combined.



As the sunlight danced upon its walls, it seemed as if the structure itself was ablaze with celestial energy. Its beauty was so unparalleled that neither the famed Sudharma of the Dasharhas nor Brahma's divine palace could compare.

Maya Danava presented his gifts in the heart of this Sabha. Bhimasena received the supreme club, glowing with an aura of invincibility. Arjuna received the mighty conch Devadatta, resplendent with the power of Varuna.

And to guard this celestial marvel, eight thousand Rakshasas terrible in form, massive in stature, with eyes of smouldering red and ears shaped like conch shells stood to watch. Known as the Kimkaras, these beings could traverse the skies and wield weapons of unimaginable power.



Yet, beyond its grandeur, Maya Danava had imbued the Sabha with an essence of magic. Within its heart lay a matchless tank, its waters teeming with life, its surface kissed by the fragrance of eternal lotuses. The lotus leaves were fashioned from Vaidya gems, their stalks sculpted from the finest jewels. Beneath the crystalline waters swam fish of radiant hues while swans and karandavas glided upon the surface. Soft steps led down into the pool, their edges dotted with pearls, and the waters remained ever pure, ever still only stirred by the whispers of the wind.



So enchanted was this vision that many kings, upon entering the Sabha, failed to recognize the water's edge and, in their ignorance, stumbled into the depths, much to the amusement of those around.

Encircling the Sabha stood towering trees, their blossoms ever in bloom. The air was thick with the scent of flowers, and the gardens were alive with the melodies of birds and the rustling of sacred leaves. The very wind carried a divine fragrance, bringing joy to the Pandavas, who now beheld their kingdom rise to heights beyond imagination.

At last, the moment of consecration arrived. King Yudhishthira, the Dharma-born, entered the Sabha in all his majesty. To mark this auspicious occasion, he fed ten thousand Brahmanas, offering them food prepared with the finest ghee, sweet payasam, fresh fruits, and roots. Each was adorned with fresh garments and wreaths of flowers, and he gifted a thousand cows in charity.

The air rang with cries of "What an auspicious day!" as the grand celebration touched even the heavens.

For seven nights, Indraprastha was alive with festivities. Wrestlers showcased their might, dancers swayed to celestial rhythms, raconteurs wove tales of valour, and minstrels filled the halls with melodies. Like the divine lords of the heavens, the Pandavas revelled in their newfound kingdom, now an abode fit for gods.

In the grand Sabha of the Pandavas, rishis and kings from various regions gathered, engaging in discourse and honouring Yudhishthira. Among them were great sages, ascetics, and renowned scholars, all versed in the Vedas and Dharma.

The illustrious rishis included Atri, Vashishtha, Asita, Devala, Satya, Sarpamali, Mahashira, Arvavasu, Sumitra, Maitreya, Shunaka, Bali, Baka, Dalbhya, Sthulashira, and the revered Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa. Alongside Vyasa were his disciples Shuka, Sumantu, Jaimini, and Paila, each possessing immense knowledge and wisdom. Other sages present were Tittira, Yajnavalkya, Lomaharshana, his son Apsuhomya, Dhoumya, Animandavya, Koushika, Damoshnisha, Traivani, Parnada, Ghatajanuka, Mounjayana, Vayubhaksha, Parasharya, the two Sarikas, Balavaka, Shinivaka, Sutyapala, Kritasharma, Jatukarna, Shikhavana, Subala, and Parijataka. The immensely fortunate sage Parvata and the venerable Markandeya also graced the assembly.

Other distinguished sages included Pavitrapani, Savarni, Bhaluki, Galava, Janghabandhu, Raibhya, Kopavegashrava, Bhrigu, Haribabhru, Koundinya, Babhrumali, Sanatana, Kakshivana, Oushija, Nachiketa, Goutama, Painga, Varaha, Shunaka, the immensely ascetic Shandilya, Karkara, Venujangha, Kalapa, and Katha. These sages, self-controlled and masters of their senses, were immersed in Dharma and engaged in discourses on righteousness and pure tales. The Sabha was also graced by many other scholars proficient in the Vedas and Vedangas, all of whom paid homage to Yudhishthira and upheld the sanctity of Dharma.

In addition to the revered rishis, the Sabha was attended by eminent kshatriyas, who waited upon Yudhishthira. These included the fortunate and righteous Munjaketu, the victorious Samgramajit, Durmukha, the valorous Ugrasena, the lord of the earth Kakshasena, the undefeated Kshemaka, Kamala, the King of Kamboja, and the mighty Kampana, who alone made the Yavanas tremble as the Kalakeya asuras once did before the wielder of the vajra.

King Jatasura, beloved by the Madras, was present, along with kings from the regions of Kunti and Kuninda of the Kiratas, Anga, Vanga, and Pundra. The rulers of Pandya, Udraja, Andhaka, and King Sumana of the Kiratas were in attendance. The King of the Yavanas, Chanura, Devavrata, Bhoja, Bhimaratha, Shrutayudha of Kalinga, and Jayatsena of Magadha were also present, alongside Susharma, Chekitana, and Suratha, the destroyer of enemies.

Additional prominent kings included Ketumana, Vasudana, Kritakshana of Videha, Sudharma, Aniruddha, the immensely strong Śrutāydha, the invincible Anuparaja, the great alms-giver Kshemajit, Shishupala and his son, and the King of Karusha. The invincible Vrishnis princes, akin to the gods, were also present Ahuka, Viprithu, Gada, Sarana, Akrura, Kritavarma, and Shini's son Satyaki. Other notable attendees were Bhishmaka, Ahriti, the valorous Dyumatsena, the great archers from Kekaya, and Yajnasena of the Somakas.

The Sabha also hosted the mighty princes of the Vrishnis, all trained in archery by Guru Devavrata. These included Pradyumna, Samba, Yuyudhana Satyaki, and many other skilled warriors. Dhananjaya's eternal friend, Tumbaru, attended, accompanied by Chitrasena, his advisers, and numerous gandharvas and apsaras proficient in music and dance. The skilled singers, knowledgeable in tala and rhythm, performed under Tumbaru's command, offering celestial music that pleased the assembled sages and Kshatriyas alike.

As these divine melodies resonated through the hall, they paid homage to the Pandavas and the rishis, who upheld truth and ascetic vows. The gathering honoured Yudhishthira as the gods revere Brahma in the celestial realms, affirming his status as a righteous and prosperous ruler. The grand Sabha thus became a confluence of wisdom, valour, and devotion, reflecting the highest ideals of Dharma and governance.

The Arrival of Devarshi Narada

The grand sabha of the Pandavas was brimming with radiance, a confluence of great souls' mighty kings, celestial Gandharvas, and enlightened sages. Among them sat the five brothers, their presence regal, their minds ever committed to Dharma. With them sat Bhishma, the pillar of righteousness, and Vasusena, the lion-hearted commander whose aura was as blazing as the midday sun.

And then, like a sudden flash of divine light, came Devarshi Narada. His form shone with boundless energy, and his arrival was not mere chance. It was an act of his own will, for he moved through the worlds as he pleased. With him came other rishis of great wisdom, Parijata, the ever-discerning Parvata, the noble Sumukha, and the tranquil Soumya.

The moment the Pandavas laid eyes on him, they rose at once. Their respect was instinctive, their reverence immediate. Yudhishthira, along with Bhishma and Vasusena, led the way in receiving him with utmost humility. A seat was offered, one befitting the sage's stature, and gifts of precious jewels and sacred offerings were placed before him. The atmosphere was charged with reverence, devotion, and an unspoken understanding that his arrival bore a more profound significance.

Narada, who had seen all and knew the past, present, and future, settled into his seat, his gaze resting upon Yudhishthira. Narada's sharp gaze met Yudhishthira's, his voice carrying the weight of ages. "O son of Dharma, do you rule your kingdom justly, ensuring that righteousness guides your every decision? Do you act according to the teachings of the wise, ensuring your rule is free from selfish desire?"

A moment of silence passed before Narada continued, his words precise. "Is your wealth spent wisely? Do you ensure that your subjects prosper without hoarding riches for yourself? Do you delight in Dharma, ensuring your pleasures are never at the cost of righteousness? Do you walk in the footsteps of your ancestors? Have you studied the śāstras, the teachings of great kings, and the wisdom of those who ruled before you? Do you ensure that your wealth and power serve Dharma rather than using Dharma as a mere tool to accumulate wealth?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or do you sacrifice both for the fleeting temptations of pleasure?"

Yudhishthira held his breath. The words struck deep, for they carried the weight of expectation. But Narada was not done. "Do you divide your time wisely between Artha, Dharma, and kāma, ensuring that none are neglected, yet none overpower the others? Do you judge the seven means of a king conciliation, gifts, sowing dissension, punishment, policy, and fortification with the six royal qualities: peace, war, standing firm, seeking refuge, marching forth, and dual policy?"

The sabha listened in rapt silence. These were the very principles upon which a kingdom stood or fell.

"Before forming alliances, do you consider the eight duties of a king? Are your six chief officers free from corruption and laziness, or have they grown weak from the comforts of wealth? Are your ministers wise, of noble lineage, loyal to you, and untouched by deceit?"

Narada's voice sharpened. "Do you think of governance even in the dead of night? Do you seek counsel from neither too few nor too many? Do your strategies remain concealed until they bear fruit? When you decide upon a great and achievable action, do you execute it without delay?"

The atmosphere grew heavier, but Narada did not pause. "Have you appointed scholars well-versed in all the śāstras to guide the young princes? Do you value one learned man over a thousand fools? In times of crisis, it is the wise who bring salvation."

Narada's piercing gaze searched Yudhishthira's own. "Are your forts with wealth, food, weapons, water, and warriors? Have you employed spies in groups of three, unknown to each other, to keep watch over your ministers and enemies alike? Do you remain vigilant, ensuring your adversaries do not move unseen?"

The unspoken meaning was clear: power lay not just in the sword but also in foresight, vigilance, and knowing friend and foe. The rishi's tone softened, but his words remained weighty. "Your priest... is he humble? Of noble lineage? Free from jealousy? Does he tend to the sacred fires with knowledge and devotion? Does your astrologer read the omens and fates with true insight?"

His voice had an urgency, a warning woven within his inquiries. "Are your subjects ruled with justice? Or do your ministers oppress them with unjust punishments? Do they hold you in high regard or look upon you with the same resentment as a wife scorns a tyrannical husband?"

His gaze flickered towards Vasusena, whose face remained impassive though his eyes betrayed deep thought. Of all those present, perhaps he alone understood the weight of oppression and the consequences of a ruler's negligence. "Your general..." Narada turned back to Yudhishthira. "Is he fearless? Loyal? Skilled? Are the warriors under him well-versed in every form of battle? Do you treat them with respect? Are their rations and wages paid on time? A king who fails in this invites calamity upon himself."

His voice had an ominous note, a warning laced with the weight of centuries of experience. "And what of the noble sons of your kingdom? Are they willing to lay down their lives for you? When the moment of war comes, will they stand firm? Or will they falter?"

Narada, his voice steady yet laced with the urgency of duty, posed the questions underpinning the realm's stability. "O King, do the hands that guard your food, your garments, and the rare perfumes of your treasury bear the mark of loyalty? Have you ensured that your granaries are full, your armouries secure, and the gates of your kingdom manned by those whose virtues have been tested?"

Yudhishthira's gaze did not waver. Narada continued. "Surely, you first protect yourself from your servants within your private chambers and those who serve the empire before you shield them from the ambitions of your kinsmen or their misguided greed. Do they know the delicate balance of your indulgences? Do they remain silent and discreet in your moments of respite, your forays into revelry?"

A pause. The flickering lamps on the wall swayed slightly in the hush. "Do your expenses weigh justly upon the treasury? Is the kingdom sustained with wisdom half the revenue, a third, or a mere quarter? And tell me, O King, do the elderly, the learned, the merchants, the artisans, the helpless, and the destitute find shelter beneath your rule, nourished by your generosity?"

The murmurs of scribes taking notes whispered like rustling leaves. Narada's voice was low but insistent. "Do the accountants who record the wealth of the land come to you each morning with truth in their ledgers? And tell me this, O Yudhishthira, do you cast aside those who have served you with unwavering loyalty without cause? Do you place men of wisdom in the right roles, distinguishing the good from the corrupt? Or do you allow the avaricious, the reckless, and the quarrelsome to find their way into the heart of power?"

The weight of the kingdom pressed upon the air. Narada's eyes gleamed with a knowledge that only years of service could bestow. "And what of your people?" he pressed on. "Are the farmers, the backbone of this land, content? Do the water tanks stand vast and brimming, ensuring that the harvest is untouched by the cruelty of drought? If scarcity looms, do you extend your hand, offering them aid at fair terms, a lifeline to sustain the kingdom's wealth?"

The questions were relentless, piercing, crafted not to accuse but to awaken. "O King, do the professions flourish under honest hands? The world's happiness is tied to the righteousness of those who toil within it. And what of the five great duties do those entrusted with them act with wisdom and bravery? Do they work in harmony, ensuring that the kingdom prospers?"

Narada's voice, though unwavering, held a quiet plea. "In protecting your great city, do you not forget the villages that feed it? Is each settlement guarded as diligently as the walls of Indraprastha? And when thieves and scoundrels arise from the shadows, do your soldiers hunt them across the land, ensuring justice prevails?"

A silence hung in the chamber. Then, a softer question, one laced with something more profound. "Do you comfort the women of your land, O King? Do you grant them safety? But tell me, do you trust them with the secrets of your throne?"

Yudhishthira's breath was steady, his face unreadable. Narada stepped back, but his questioning did not cease. "When night falls, O Son of Dharma, and the kingdom sleeps, do you rest in peace? Do your spies whisper the truths of the realm into your ears before slumber takes you? And when you wake, as the final portion of the night fades, do you rise with thoughts of Dharma and Artha upon your lips?"

A flicker of admiration crossed his face as he continued. "Do you reveal yourself to your people in the manner befitting a king adorned, flanked by the wise, stepping into the light with the dignity of a ruler? Do your guards stand ready, draped in red, their swords a silent testament to your strength?"

The questions wove a tapestry of duty and consequence, a burden only the righteous could bear. "Do you stand, O King, like Yama himself unshaken in your justice, blind to favouritism, punishing only where punishment is due and honouring where honour is earned?"

Narada's voice softened when he turned to Nakula and Sahadeva, yet his words carried no less weight. "Princes, do you tend to the health of your people as you would your own? Do you cure ailments with medicine and the wisdom of restraint? And tell me, are the physicians devoted to their craft, trained in the eightfold healing path?"

A pause, then a gaze fixed once more upon Yudhishthira. "O King, do you allow greed, delusion, or pride to cloud your judgment? Do you dismiss the pleas of those seeking justice before you? Do you withhold livelihood from those who place their faith in you?"

The chamber felt more diminutive, the questions pressing upon mortal shoulders like the weight of the heavens. "Do the people of your land, lured by the gold of your enemies, rise against you in secret rebellion? Do you bind the weak enemy with force and the strong one with wisdom or both?"

A final breath. "For your welfare, do you bow before the learned, as is their due? Do you honour Dharma as it was upheld by those who came before you? Do you follow the sacred rites, feed the wise, and give in charity with an open hand? Do you walk with reverence through your kingdom, offering homage to gods, sages, and even the trees that shelter your people?"

Narada's voice fell to a hush, a whisper laced with warning and blessing: "O King, a ruler who walks this path, steadfast in virtue, shall never fall. His kingdom shall thrive, and his name shall echo through eternity."

Narada began his inquiry with a voice as soothing as Ganga's flow yet firm like the Himalayas, his words piercing through the silence like a clarion call of Dharma. "O king, for your welfare, do you pay homage to Brahmanas and righteous ones, honouring them according to their learning and qualities? Do you uphold Dharma in all its three forms, sruti, smriti, and sadachara, as followed by those who came before you? Do you ensure that Brahmanas with noble qualities are offered tasty food in your house and are given due Dakshina?"

The hall remained still, the weight of the questions pressing upon every listener as Narada continued. "With steadfastness of mind and complete self-control, do you perform the sacred sacrifices Vajapeya, Pundarika, and others? Do you bow in homage before your relatives, superiors, gods, ascetics, places of worship, and the sacred trees that benefit men? Is your intelligence and conduct such that it bestows longevity and fame while furthering the cause of Dharma, Artha, and kama?"

Yudhishthira's gaze remained fixed upon Narada, his heart absorbing each question sincerely. The sage's voice grew sharper, cutting into the more profound responsibilities of a king. "Surely, no pure-souled and righteous man is falsely charged with theft and put to death by those avaricious ones who lack knowledge of the sacred texts. Surely, he who is a thief and has been apprehended with stolen goods before witnesses is not set free out of covetousness. Tell me, O king, do your advisers, corrupted by bribes, turn a blind eye when disputes arise between the poor and the rich?"

A murmur rippled through the assembly, but Narada's voice remained unwavering as he asked, "Do you abhor the fourteen royal vices atheism, falsehood, anger, negligence, procrastination, avoidance of the wise, laziness, restlessness of mind, consultation with only one person, consultation with the ignorant, failure to act on decisions, divulgence of counsel, abandonment of beneficial plans, and addiction to material objects? O son of Dharma, is your study of the Vedas fruitful? Are your riches used righteously? Is your marriage a source of virtue? Is your learning crowned with good conduct?"

Yudhishthira, ever the seeker of Dharma, bowed his head in humility and responded, "O great sage, how does the study of the Vedas become successful? How do riches find success? How does marriage bear fruit? And how is learning truly fulfilled?"

A knowing smile played upon Narada's lips as he answered, "The Vedas become successful when realized through the agnihotra, the sacred fire rituals. Riches succeed when consumed in rightful enjoyment and given in charity. Marriage fulfils its purpose when sons are born through a virtuous union. And learning finds its true meaning in righteous conduct."

The great ascetic, Narada, his presence like the still waters before a storm, turned once more to the righteous King Yudhishthira. His eyes, ancient and knowing, bore into the son of Dharma as he asked, his voice both a whisper and a thunderclap in the vastness of the royal sabha. "O King! Those who collect taxes in your kingdom, do they take only the agreed levy from merchants who travel from distant lands in search of prosperity? Or do they, in greed, extract more than what is rightful? When traders arrive, bearing the weight of their wares and hopes, are they fairly welcomed? Do they find honesty in your marketplaces, or does deceit ensnare them?"

Narada's words carried the weight of Dharma, testing the king's resolve. His piercing gaze lingered before he continued. "O son of Kunti! You have always walked the path of Dharma and Artha. Tell me, do you seek the wisdom of the aged? Those whose years have gifted them with knowledge of prosperity, do you listen to them with reverence? Do their words shape your rule?"

There was a pause; a moment stretched thin before Narada's voice again wove its spell. "Do you offer honey and ghee to the learned Brahmanas so that crops flourish, cattle grow in number, flowers and fruits ripen in abundance, and dharma and wealth increase in your land?"

His questions were relentless, each striking deep, demanding an answer and reflection. "Do you provide artisans with all the materials, tools, and fair wages they require for up to four months, ensuring that the wheels of industry never halt? And when their works are complete, do you take the time to examine them, acknowledge their skill, and honour their artistry?"

Narada leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting sharper, testing. "Do you recognize the virtuous among the virtuous? Do you uplift the deserving, or do they remain unseen in the shadows of your court?"

He pressed on, his questions flowing like an unbroken river. "Do you study the sutras? Especially those that speak of elephants, horses, and chariots as the essence of a king's might? Are the sciences of warfare, instruments, and the architecture of cities matters of regular study in your palace?"

His eyes narrowed as if peering beyond the physical realm into the depths of Yudhishthira's conscience. "O unblemished one! Are you well-versed in every weapon? Do you possess knowledge of the Brahma Danda, the supreme staff of punishment? Do you understand the nature of poisons that can vanquish enemies?"

His voice dropped into a solemn hush, carrying a weight far beyond mortal matters. "Does your kingdom stand guard against the terrors of fire, the fangs of serpents, the claws of beasts, the grip of disease, and the lurking shadows of rakshasas?"

And then, with a shift so slight yet so profound, his words took on a gentler, yet no less piercing, tone. "Tell me, O King, do you nurture your people as a father nurtures his children? Do you offer your protection, your care, to the blind, the mute, the crippled, the deformed? Do the orphaned find solace under your rule? Do the mendicant ascetics, who have renounced the world, find in you a protector?"

Silence fell. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting. Yudhishthira, son of Dharma, the great-souled king of the Kuru lineage, did not waver. He stepped forward, his heart swelling with reverence for the sage before him. Bowing low, he touched Narada's feet, his voice unwavering as he declared: "O divine sage, I shall do as instructed, for your words have further deepened my wisdom."

Seeing the king's steadfastness, Narada smiled at one who had seen the future unfold before his eyes. "A king who protects the four varnas with unwavering diligence," he proclaimed, his voice echoing across time itself, "finds happiness in this world and ascends to the Swarga."

Divine Assemblies

As the supreme Maharshi concluded his words, Yudhishthira, the embodiment of righteousness, humbly worshipped the sage and, with reverence, sought permission to speak. His voice was steady, carrying the weight of his duty and aspirations. "Rishivar," Yudhishthira said solemnly, "What you have stated as just and dharma is undoubtedly true. I have endeavoured to uphold righteousness in my rule to the best of my ability. Undoubtedly, the deeds of the kings of old, their ways of governance, and the paths they walked led them to just and proper objectives."

His thoughtful yet unwavering gaze met Narada's. "Devarshi, I, too, wish to walk that righteous path. But," there was a pause, a moment of quiet reflection before he continued, "we cannot walk it in the way those self-controlled ones did."

Truth is spoken not in self-pity but in the honest realization of the challenges of the times.

Having said this, Yudhishthira bowed once more in reverence. His soul, devoted to dharma, remained silent for a while. Then, noticing that Narada traversed the three worlds at will, the eternal witness of the cosmos was comfortably seated. Yudhishthira, still sitting below him, gathered his thoughts and spoke again. His voice carried curiosity, reverence, and a desire to learn. "O Brahmana," he asked, "you travel across the many and varied worlds that Brahma himself created in ancient times. You move at the speed of thought, observing all that transpires. Tell me, O revered one, have you ever seen an assembly like this, my sabha or one even greater?"

The question was simple in words but profound in intent. Yudhishthira did not ask to seek validation; he asked to understand where his hall stood compared to those of the divine realms. Narada, hearing Yudhishthira's words, smiled. There was wisdom in that smile, acknowledging Yudhishthira's humility and thirst for knowledge. The celestial sage replied softly yet richly: "I have neither seen nor heard of an assembly hall like yours among men, O King. This bejewelled sabha of yours stands unparalleled in the world of mortals."

A statement that might have filled a lesser king with pride. But Yudhishthira only listened, his curiosity urging him forward. Narada continued, his voice now carrying the weight of divine knowledge. "However, I shall describe to you the sabhas of the King of the Ancestors, the wise Varuna, the mighty Indra, and him, who resides in Kailasa. If your heart desires, I will also narrate the grandeur of Brahma's divine sabha, which dispels all fatigue."

Hearing these words, Yudhishthira and his brothers, seated in that grand assembly of kings, folded their hands in salutation. Their souls yearned for the wisdom Narada had to offer. Then, with a steady voice filled with eagerness, Yudhishthira replied: "Describe to us all those assembly halls, O Devarshi. We wish to hear about them from you. What are they made of? How vast are they? Who are the ones that serve the Grandfather, Brahma, in his sabha? Who stands by Vasava, the King of the Devas? Who attends to Vaivasvata Yama? Who are the ones that wait upon Varuna and Kubera in their divine halls? O sage, tell us in exact detail. Our curiosity is great, and our minds long to know."

Yudhishthira's voice, though calm, carried the weight of deep inquisitiveness. His question was not just about grandeur; it was about understanding the essence of these sabhas and their significance in the universe's grand scheme.

Narada, seeing this genuine yearning, nodded. "O King," he said, his voice now carrying the gravity of divine revelation, "then hear me as I describe to you these divine sabhas, one by one." And thus, the veil between the mortal and immortal realms began to lift.

Narada's voice carried weight beyond words as he described a realm that defied earthly imagination. "O Yudhishthira," he began, his tone laced with reverence, "Shakra's divine sabha is not of this world. It is radiant, beyond measure, born from the merit of his deeds. Shakra, the lord of the Devas, shaped it with his hands, and it gleams with the brilliance of a thousand suns."

His eyes gleamed as he spoke as if the mere memory of the sight filled him with awe. "This celestial hall spans one hundred yojanas in width and stretches a hundred and fifty yojanas. It towers five yojanas high, but not all this sabha is no ordinary stone and wood structure. It is airborne, unbound by the laws of mortals, able to roam wherever it pleases. And within its walls, time bends, for there is no old age, misery, or exhaustion here. Only purity, only radiance, only the unending grace of the divine."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing. "Fear finds no place in this hallowed space, for it is a realm of auspiciousness and serenity. Vast chambers, majestic seats, and celestial trees adorn its beauty, each branch bearing fruit that no mortal hand has ever touched. But at the heart of this divine assembly stands a throne, a seat of supremacy unlike any other. And there, seated upon it, is the vanquisher of foes, the lord of the Devas himself, Mahendra, with his queen, Shachi, by his side.

She is none other than Shri; she is Lakshmi incarnate, the goddess of prosperity, seated with him in eternal splendour. His form, O King, is beyond mortal words, beyond the grasp of speech and ink. He wears a resplendent crown, his upper arms gleaming with bracelets as red as the dawn. His garments are of the purest fabric, spotless and divine. Around him, celestial garlands shine with colours unknown to this world, and at his feet stand Hri, Kirti, and Dyuti - modesty, fame, and radiance embodied in their purest forms."

Narada's voice softened, but the intensity in his eyes deepened. "There, in that divine sabha, Shatakratu, the wielder of the Vajra, is never alone. The Maruts gather in devotion, and the great householders of the celestial realms bow before him. The Siddhas, perfected in wisdom, and the Sadhyas, the eternal seers, offer their obeisance. The air trembles with their praises, and every being in that assembly, every god, and every celestial shine with a beauty not of this world. Their bodies are untouched by imperfection, and their ornaments shimmer with otherworldly brilliance. And everyone worships him, the great-souled king of the gods, the unconquerable one, and the destroyer of enemies."

Narada's words took a different tone now, one of reverence not just for the Devas but also for the ascetics whose austerities had earned them a place in the celestial assembly. "O King, all the Devarshis, those radiant sages who have transcended the bonds of sin and imperfection, also reside there. Their forms blaze like fire, untarnished by fatigue or the burdens of the flesh. They are the performers of the Soma sacrifice, the ones whose penance sustains the very order of existence."

He began to name them, each title spoken with deep reverence. "Parashara, Parvata, Savarni, Galava, Shankha, Likhita, the wise Gourashira, the fierce Durvasa, Dirghatapa, Yajnavalkya, Bhaluki, Uddalaka, the great Shvetaketu, the lordly Shatyayana, the fire-born Havishmat, Gavishtha, the noble King Harishchandra, the serene Hridya, Udarashandilya, Parasharya, Krishihvala, Vataskandha, Vishakha, Vidhata, Kala, Anantadanta, Tvashta, Vishvakarma, and Tumburu—all are there."

A flicker of something ancient passed across his face as he continued, "Some were born from wombs, others emerged without birth. Some sustain themselves on air alone, others on fire. Yet, all of them, without exception, bow before the wielder of the Vajra, Indra himself."

His list did not end there. "Sahadeva, Sunitha, the ascetic Valmiki, Shamika, the truthful Satyavak, the noble Prachetas, Medhatithi, Vamadeva, Pulastya, Pulaha, Kratu, the sacrificer Marutta, the luminous Marichi, the great ascetic Sthanu, Kakshivat, the venerable Goutama, Tarkshya, the radiant sage Vaishvanara, the mighty Kalakavrikshiya, Ashravya, Hiranyada, Samvartta, Devahavya, and the formidable Vishvaksena, all reside there, paying homage to the king of the gods."

His voice now carried the weight of cosmic forces beyond mortal understanding. "There, gathered in that celestial sabha, sit not just sages but also the elements that govern the world. The divine waters, the sacred herbs; Shraddha, the essence of devotion; Medha, the embodiment of wisdom; Sarasvati, the goddess of speech; and the forces of Artha, dharma, and kama are all present. The flashing lightning, the heavy rain clouds, the roaring winds, and the thunder that shakes the heavens also find a seat in Indra's court.

And not just these," Narada's voice deepened, "but the very fires that carry sacrificial offerings, all twenty-seven, blaze in that sabha. Agni, Soma, Indragni, Mitra, Savita, Aryama, Bhaga, the Vishvadevas, the Sadhyas, Shukra, Manthi, the sacrifices themselves, the Dakshina offered in reverence, the planets that chart destinies, the sacred chants of the stories, and the mantras that shape reality all are gathered there."

His words wove a picture beyond the grasp of mortal minds. "And what is a court without its entertainers? The apsaras, of beauty unmatched, the melodious Gandharvas, their voices sweeter than nectar, O King! They dance, sing, and perform in joyous revelry; their every movement is meant to delight Shatakratu, the wielder of the thunderbolt. Their music is not mere sound—it is devotion, a hymn, an offering to the great-souled one who vanquished Bala and Vritra."

His voice took on a tone of finality as if he had revealed a secret not meant for mortal ears. "O King of men! The great Brahmana Rajarshis and the divine Devarshis all arrive in divine chariots that blaze like fire. Their forms are adorned with celestial garlands, their presence a vision of pure radiance. They come, they go, their movements like the flow of time itself. And among them, Brihaspati and Shukra, the preceptors of the gods and the demons, walk side by side. O King! The seven great sages Bhrigu and his kin descend from Brahma's command, their wisdom guiding even the mightiest of the Devas.

I have seen it, Yudhishthira," Narada concluded, his voice no longer recounting but reliving the sight. "I have stood in the presence of this celestial sabha, the abode of Shatakratu, the hall named Pushkaramalini. Its grandeur cannot be captured in words, for it is not of this world. It is a vision beyond mortality, a sight that few are blessed to witness."

And with that, silence fell, heavy with the weight of an unseen world.

Yudhishthira, ever eager to understand the mysteries of the worlds beyond, turned to the celestial sage and asked with reverence, "Can you describe the Sabha of Yama Deva?"

Narada's lips were smacked with a knowing smile. He gazed at Yudhishthira, his eyes gleaming with the wisdom of countless ages. "Listen, Yamaputr," he said, his voice rich with the weight of divine knowledge. "I shall now describe to you the Sabha of Vaivasvata Yama, the Lord of Dharma and Justice."

Narada's voice took on a mesmerizing cadence as he began his description. "This divine Sabha, built by the celestial architect Vishvakarma, is like no other. It stretches across a hundred yojanas in length and breadth, vast and boundless, resplendent as the sun. But more than its size, its nature sets it apart it moves at will, free from space limitations. Wherever it chooses to be, it appears, untouched by time and distance."

Yudhishthira listened intently, his mind painting images of the wondrous hall. Narada continued, "This Sabha is neither too cold nor too hot. It is a realm where the soul finds peace and where the heart feels joy. Here, grief does not exist. Old age, hunger, thirst, fatigue, none of these burdens touch those who enter. There is no misery, no obstruction. Every human or divine desire finds fulfilment within its sacred halls."

Narada's voice grew softer, reverent. "There, food and drink of the most exquisite kind are abundant. The garlands woven here exude the purest of fragrances, their scent lingering like a celestial blessing. The trees, ah, the trees! They are forever in bloom, their branches heavy with fruit that never withers or falls. And the water is so sweet and cool yet warm when needed- offers comfort beyond imagination."

Yudhishthira exhaled slowly, lost in the sheer beauty of what he heard. A place untouched by sorrow... A place where all desires find completion... What a Sabha this must be!

Narada's voice swelled with pride as he spoke of the august beings who graced Yama's Sabha. "O Yudhishthira! Within these sacred halls reside the great Rajarshis and Brahmarshi, pure in heart and unblemished in their virtue. They stand in service to Vaivasvata Yama, and their presence is a testament to their righteousness in life. Listen carefully, for I shall name them."

And then, like the flowing waters of the Ganga, Narada began his list—a roll of the most fabulous kings, sages, and heroes who had walked the earth and now found their place in Yama's Sabha. "Yayati, the mighty Nahusha, the illustrious Puru, the noble Mandhata, the valiant Somaka, and the righteous Nriga... Trasadasyu, Turaya, the great Kritavirya, Shrutashrava, and Aripranuda... Susimha, Kritavega, Kriti, Nimi, Pratardana, and Shibi of unmatched generosity. The mighty Matsya, Prithavaksha, and Brihadratha stand tall, as does the great Marutta, the mighty Kushika, and Samkashya."

The names flowed; each was a legend, and each was a king who had ruled with Dharma and met his fate with honour. "Kartavirya Arjuna, the great Bharata, the wise Suratha, the noble Sunitha, and Nala of Nishada, whose story even the gods admire... Ambarisha, Bhagiratha, Divodasa, and the great Janaka of Videha, whose wisdom was unparalleled... The righteous Ushinara, the valiant Pandu, your Pitashree, O Yudhishthira, stand there, honoured and revered."

Pandava's breath caught at the mention of Pandu. Their Pitashree, in the Sabha of Yama... Did he watch over them? Did he see his sons walk the path of Dharma?

Narada continued his words like a river of time, carrying forth the names of those who had walked before. "Pradyumna, the mighty warrior; Sagara, who reclaimed the ocean; Dasharathi Rama and his devoted brother Lakshmana; the invincible Jamadagni Rama, whose axe struck down the haughty... The kings of Matsya, the warriors of the Nipa clan, the Hayas, the Dhritarashtras, the Brahmadattas, the Shashabindus who performed countless Ashwamedhas... All of them reside in that Sabha, honoured for their deeds."

Narada's gaze grew distant as he spoke of the sages and celestial beings who graced the assembly. "There, you will find Agastya, the mighty Matanga, the relentless Kala, and Mrityu. The Siddhas, the performers of great sacrifices, and those whose bodies are forged in the fires of yoga are all present. There are those whose very mouths blaze with divine fire, the Pitris, the ancestors who sustain themselves on the essence of offerings. They, too, honour Dharmaraja with their presence."

Yudhishthira's mind swirled. This Sabha was not just a hall. It was the seat of justice itself! The embodiment of time, karma, and fate stood before Yama, the Lord of Dharma.

Narada sighed as if realizing the limits of mortal words. "There are countless more beings whose names I cannot fully enumerate. But know this: Vaivasvata Yama's Sabha is never crowded despite the infinite souls within. It is vast, limitless, and moves as it wills, unrestricted by the bounds of space or time."

Yudhishthira was silent, absorbing it all. "Vishvakarma, the divine architect, built it after countless ages of penance. And what a creation it is, O son of Dharma! It does not simply glow; it blazes, radiant with its light and a beacon of celestial justice."

Narada's voice grew reverent, almost hushed. "Within this Sabha walk are those who have mastered austerities, tamed their desires, and purified their souls through the fire of truth. They are clad in spotless garments, their bodies glowing with the brilliance of their virtues. They wear armlets and garlands, their earrings blazing like the sun. Their presence fills the Sabha with a divine majesty."

And yet, it was not a place of solemn silence. "There, O Yudhishthira, are the celestial Gandharvas, their music filling the air. Apsaras of a hundred kinds dance and sing their laughter like the chime of sacred bells. Instruments play, voices rise in melody, and the Sabha resonates with divine joy."

Narada smiled, his voice dipping into wonder. "Fragrance drifts through the air, celestial garlands adorn the halls, and sacred sounds fill every corner. Ten million righteous souls, pure in intellect and heart, stand ever ready to serve the Lord of Beings, Vaivasvata Yama."

A deep silence followed. Yudhishthira exhaled, his heart swelling with awe. This Sabha was a realm of justice, fulfilment, and ultimate truth.

Narada, the divine sage, spoke with a voice brimming with wonder, "O Yudhishthira, I shall now recount to you the grandeur of Varuna's sabha, a celestial abode beyond mortal comprehension. This divine assembly hall of the Lord of Waters glows with a pristine, white radiance, its luminescence unmatched. Its dimensions mirror Yama's Sabha's vast, imposing, and awe-inspiring dimensions. Enclosed within walls and portals of dazzling whiteness, this divine hall is a testament to the craftsmanship of Vishvakarma, the celestial architect. Built beneath the ocean's depths, this sabha remains untouched by the tides of time, an eternal masterpiece adorned with divine bejewelled trees. These trees, radiant with celestial gems, bear blossoms and fruits of wondrous colours, their fragrance filling the air with an otherworldly sweetness.

The very ground of this sabha is a mesmerizing tapestry of hues of blue, yellow, black, dark, white, and red flowers, forming a divine carpet that welcomes all who step within. Clusters of blossoms sway gently, forming enchanting bowers where divine birds of unparalleled beauty reside. Their forms are indescribable, creatures of celestial origins with plumage shimmering like liquid gold, their songs a melody so pure that even the gods pause to listen. This sabha, O king, is neither cold nor warm; it is a realm of perfect balance, its air imbued with a serene and soothing presence. It is ruled by Varuna, the sovereign of the cosmic waters, and within its vastness lie numerous chambers and seats, each crafted to perfection.

In this divine court sits Varuna, the lord of the waters, with his consort, the radiant Varuni, by his side. Adorned with celestial gems and clad in divine garments that shimmer like liquid silver, he presides over his realm, an embodiment of supreme authority. His body is wreathed in garlands that never wither, their fragrance carrying the essence of eternity. Around him stand the mighty Adityas, his divine kin, their presence a testament to the power that flows through this sacred sabha.

But they are not alone. Behold, O Yudhishthira! The mighty serpents, the Nagas of great renown, pay their obeisance to the Lord of Waters. The great serpent king Vasuki coils in reverence; his hood spread wide. Takshaka, the formidable, stands beside him, his eyes gleaming with wisdom and power. Airavata, the serpent named after Indra's celestial elephant, is present, his form resplendent. Krishna, Lohita, and Padma, beings of unparalleled grandeur, stand among them. And there, the valorous Chitra, the Nagas Kambala and Ashvatara, the mighty Dritarashtra and Balahaka, their hoods marked with auspicious signs, remain ever-vigilant.

Do you see, O son of Dharma? Manimana, Kundaladhara, and Karkotaka, these serpents of legend, stand in unwavering devotion. Dhananjaya, Prahrada, Mushikada, and the ancient Janamejaya are all present, their celestial auras blending in a symphony of divine power. Each of these great Nagas, their hoods adorned with pennants, offer their eternal service to Varuna, their strength an unshakable force within his dominion.

But the nagas are not the only ones in attendance. King Bali, the great asura who once challenged the very gods themselves, stands tall, his form radiating the power of his boons—Naraka, the conqueror of the earth, bows in solemn reverence. Prahrada, the daitya of unmatched wisdom, stands by his side. The danavas, those ancient beings of great might Kalakhanjas, Suhanu, Durmukha, Shankha, Sumana, Sumati, and countless others gather in this hallowed sabha. Their ears are adorned with dazzling earrings, their heads crowned, and their garments are woven from celestial fabrics. They have been blessed with boons, O king, and have transcended the boundaries of mortality.

Each of them remains unwavering in their vows, bound by Dharma. They worship the great-souled Varuna, who holds them firmly within the noose of righteousness. They, who once opposed the gods, now stand as guardians of the cosmic order, bound in allegiance to the sovereign of the waters.

O Yudhishthira, gaze upon the majesty of this divine realm! The four great oceans stand in embodied form, offering their homage to Varuna. The sacred river Bhagirathi, whose waters cleanse the sins of mortals, flows with devotion. Kalindi, Vidisha, Venna, and Narmada, the eternal carriers of life, are all in their celestial forms. Vegavahini, Vipasha, and the mighty Shatadru stand in reverence. The Chandrabhaga, Sarasvati, Iravati, Vitasta, and the outstanding Sindhu, these rivers of legend, bow before the Lord of Waters, their currents singing his praises.

Devanada, Godavari, Krishnavenna, and the ever-sacred Kaveri, the best among rivers, stand in embodied form, their devotion unwavering. Wells, lakes, ponds, and springs, each a giver of life and a sustainer of the earth, offer their homage. Even the vast directions, the world itself, the towering mountains, and all the creatures of the waters bow before Varuna, the eternal protector of cosmic balance.

The Gandharvas, those celestial musicians, weave an eternal melody. With their ethereal grace, the apsaras dance to the rhythm of creation. Their music, songs, and divine artistry are all dedicated to the one who governs the oceans. The mountains' peaks crowned with sacred herbs and jewels stand in personified form, their spirits joining in worship.

Such is the magnificence of Varuna's sabha, a realm of divine splendour, unwavering devotion, and celestial harmony. I have seen this sabha with my own eyes in my many travels across the three worlds, and even now, its radiance lingers in my soul."

Narada's voice echoed through the halls of Indraprastha as he completed his narration. Narada, spoke with an air of intrigue, his voice carrying the weight of celestial wonders yet untold. "O King," he began, his eyes gleaming with the light of infinite wisdom, "listen now as I reveal to you the splendour of Kubera's sabha."

"Vaishravana's radiant and white sabha stretches across a vast expanse one hundred yojanas in length and seventy in width. It is no ordinary hall, O King. Built by Kubera himself, through the sheer power of his relentless austerities, it is a testament to his might.

Its luminosity rivals that of the moon, bathing the skies in an ethereal glow. Suspended above the earth like a peak of the great Kailasa, it is not bound by mortal constraints. The shakas, the hidden celestial beings, uphold it in the firmament, ensuring its splendour remains untouched by the ravages of time.

Golden trees, towering and divine, line its expanse, their brilliance casting a glow that mingles with the celestial radiance of the sabha. It seems not of this world—floating, resplendent, and fragrant with the most divine scents, carried across its halls like whispered hymns of the gods.

It is like a dream suspended in the heavens, white as the softest clouds, majestic as the tallest peaks. And in its heart, seated upon a throne of unmatched splendour, is Vaishravana himself."

There, O King sits Kubera—lustrous earrings glinting with celestial brilliance, his robes an explosion of vibrant hues. Around him, a thousand celestial women stand in attendance, their beauty beyond mortal comprehension.

His throne, the embodiment of divinity, shines with the sun's brilliance. It is draped in the finest celestial fabrics, and at its foot lie sacred footstools, their touch reserved only for the most exalted of beings.

The air in this sabha is alive with the most enchanting fragrances. The scent of coral trees and scented groves, the divine aroma of lotus blooms from the famed pond of Alaka, and the delicate perfume from the fabled gardens of Nandana blend, weaving an atmosphere of pure bliss.

The winds flowing through this sacred hall seem to bow in reverence, offering their homage with every fragrant whisper.

The gods themselves, along with the melodious Gandharvas, gather here. They are never alone, for swarms of apsaras encircle them, their divine voices soaring in celestial harmonies, their graceful movements a dance that defies earthly beauty.

The sabha is never still. It is alive with music, rhythm, and the celestial maidens' enchanting presence.

Mishrakeshi, the graceful; Rambha, the epitome of allure; the sweet-smiling Chitrasena; the enchanting Charunetra; the luminous Ghritachi; Menaka, the cause of great legends; Punjikasthala, with her radiant beauty; Vishvachi, divine and mysterious; Sahajanya, who moves like the wind; Pramlocha, whose beauty defies words; Urvashi, the jewel of heaven; Ira, the soft-spoken; Varga, the ever-smiling; Sourabheyi, the fragrance of the divine; Samichi, the tender-hearted; Budbuda, the one who dances like water ripples; and Lata, graceful as a creeping vine.

And these are but a few. There are a thousand more, each a marvel in her own right, each possessing a voice that could weave spells into existence. Skilled in song and dance, they move in perfect harmony, paying homage to the granter of riches with their celestial performances. This sabha, O King, is never empty. It is always vibrant, alive, filled with divine melodies, eternal rhythms, and an air of enchantment that no mortal realm could ever hope to replicate. But it is not just music and dance that fill this court. Many great beings, fearsome and magnificent, stand guard in this celestial palace.

The Gandharvas, known as kinnaras, half-divine and half-beast, their songs as mesmerizing as the night sky. And others, the naras—Anibhadra, Dhanada, Shvetabhadra, Guhyaka, Kasheraka, Gandhakandu, the mighty Pradyota, Kustumbura, the shadowy Pishacha, Gajakarna of the elephant ears, Vishalaka, Varahakarna the boar-eared, Sandroshtha, Phalabhaksha, Phalodaka, Angachuda, Shikhavarta, Hemanetra, Vibhishana, Pushpanana, Pingalaka, Shonitoda, Pravalaka, Vrikshavasya, Aniketa, Chitravasa—their names alone strike awe into those who hear them.

And alongside them, in their countless numbers, are the mighty yakshas, protectors of this radiant realm: hundreds, thousands of them, each bound in unwavering devotion to Kubera. The ever-fortunate goddess Shri is ever-present here, blessing all who set foot in this celestial abode. And Nalakubara, the son of Kubera, stands proud in his father's court, his radiance a reflection of his divine lineage.

O King, I, and others like me have visited this sacred sabha, for its doors are open to those worthy of its wonders. And amidst the celestial gathering, the most revered preceptors and devarshis often make their presence known there."

But beyond all this, beyond the music, beyond the beauty, beyond the riches and wonders of Kubera's realm—one presence towers above all others. Pashupati, the wielder of the trident, the fearsome Umapati, the destroyer of Bhaganetra. He is not alone—beside him sits the unblemished goddess, the divine Uma, her aura radiating power and serenity in equal measure. And around them, in their terrifying glory, stand the followers of Mahadeva. Hundreds, thousands of them. Dwarfs with enormous strength, terrible and ghastly in appearance, hunchbacked and fearsome, their bloodshot eyes piercing through the very fabric of existence. These beings, swift as thought, consume flesh and marrow, their hunger insatiable. They wield weapons so terrible that even the bravest would quail at sight. They are like powerful storms, destructive and unstoppable manifestations of destruction. And yet, O King, they stand here in devotion despite their fearsome nature. Mahadeva is always seated with his friend, the granter of riches, the Lord of Yakshas, Kubera. Such is the grandeur of this sabha, O King! It is a place of beauty, power, riches beyond imagination, and presences so divine that even the most extraordinary mortals can only dream of glimpsing its splendour.

I saw it with my own eyes as I travelled through the skies. And what I saw, O King is beyond what words can ever hope to capture."

Narada Speaks of the Divine Assembly, "O King! Listen, and I shall now reveal the magnificence of the Grandfather's (Brahma's) divine sabha, a realm where all weariness dissolves like mist before the morning sun.

In ancient times, during the era of the gods, the resplendent and tireless Lord Aditya, the Sun God himself, descended from the celestial realms to behold the world of men. O Pandava! Before this descent, he had already witnessed the sabha of the self-born Brahma, the Supreme Creator. And, assuming a mortal form, he described to me what he had seen—every detail, every glory, just as it appeared to his divine sight.

As his words flowed like nectar, weaving a tapestry of divine wonder, my heart burned with an insatiable desire to witness this celestial sabha myself. What kind of place was it, where the heavens' light paled in comparison? What glories did it hold? What mysteries lay within its sacred walls? The urge to see it with my own eyes overwhelmed me, and so, with my heart ablaze with curiosity, I turned to Aditya and spoke:

"O Resplendent One! I yearn to see the Grandfather's sabha with my own eyes. Tell me, O Lord of the cattle! By what penances and deeds may one gain entrance to such a realm? O Divine One! What sacred herbs or mystical powers of Maya might grant me the vision to behold its wonders?"

Then, O King, the illustrious and valorous Surya, the Sun God himself, took me to the sabha of Brahma—the untainted, unblemished hall of divine grandeur, where fatigue is unknown, where existence itself is luminous beyond comprehension.

It is impossible to capture the exact form of that sabha in mere words, for it defies the bounds of definition. With every passing moment, its appearance shifts, taking on indescribable forms beyond the grasp of mortal imagination. O King! I do not know its dimensions; I cannot tell you its shape, for no structure of this world compares to its boundless beauty. Never before have my eyes rested upon such an extraordinary sight.

And what a place it is! A hall of endless pleasure and serenity, untouched by the extremes of heat or cold. No hunger gnaws, thirst parches, or fatigue burdens the soul upon entering its sacred embrace. The sabha breathes with an ethereal life, its essence shifting in colours of divine radiance. It does not need for pillars to hold it aloft, no fear of time's decay, for it is eternal.

And O King, its self-effulgent brilliance surpasses even the moon, the sun, and the flames of fire. A place where, high above in the firmament, its celestial glow lights up even the sun itself!

Upon a throne of immeasurable splendour sits the Supreme God—the Grandfather of all the worlds, Brahma, the self-born. Alone, through the limitless power of his maya, he is the eternal Creator, ceaselessly bringing forth all beings into existence. Before him, the greatest of the great bow in reverence—Daksha, Pracheta, Pulastya, Pulaha, Marichi, Kashyapa, Bhrigu, Goutama, and Angiras.

But his creation does not end with sages alone. Nay, O King! He is the source of all—mind, sky, knowledge, wind, energy, water, earth. He brings forth sound, touch, form, taste, and smell. He is the root cause of all creation, the seed of the world's evolution. The moon, all the constellations, the sun with its piercing rays, the winds that dance across the heavens, the seasons that weave time's eternal tapestry, and the very breath of life arise from him. The most significant forces of existence assemble in that sacred sabha. There are too many to name; they are drawn to the Creator's presence—Artha, Dharma, Kama, Bliss, Hatred, Austerities, and Self-Control. With their celestial music, the Gandharvas and the Apsaras, whose beauty surpasses mortal comprehension, grace its halls.

The twenty-seven lords of the world stand in attendance—Shukra, Brihaspati, Budha, Angaraka, Shani, Rahu, all the planets, the powerful Adityas, the Maruts, the Vasus, the divine Vishvakarma. The very embodiments of the Vedas—Rig, Sama, Yajur, and Atharva—reside here in their sacred forms. Histories, holy texts, all the Vedangas, sacrifices, sacred mantras—each is present, an eternal offering to the Supreme.

And in this hall of divine assembly, even time itself takes form—Kshana, Lava, Muhurta, day and night, fortnights, months, the six seasons, years, the five great yugas, the divine wheel of time that turns without beginning, without end.

Aditi, Diti, Danu, Surasa, Vinata, Ira, Kalaka, Devi, Surabhi, Sarama, Goutami—all the mothers of celestial beings reside here. The Adityas, the Rudras, the Maruts, the Ashvins, the Vishvadevas, the Sadhyas, the swift ancestors, the Rakshasas, the Pisachas, the Danavas, the Guhyakas, birds, serpents, animals—all are gathered, offering their homage to the Grandfather—Narayana himself, the Supreme Soul of the Universe. O King! Behold the assembly of the sages! Eighty thousand rishis, who have conquered their desires, and fifty thousand who have offspring—they too come and go as they will, offering their reverence to Brahma. Heads bowed, they pay homage before him and then return, just as they came, their spirits lifted by his divine grace.

And there, in the midst of them all, radiant beyond all, sits Brahma—the self-created, the boundless one, infinite in his effulgence, kind beyond measure. He, the soul of the universe, receives their devotion with calm words, with honours befitting each, with riches and pleasures beyond mortal reach. That celestial sabha, that realm of divine joy, is ever alive, pulsing with the movements of gods and sages, demons and yakshas, birds and Gandharvas, apsaras and kayas. A place where divine energy surges like an unending river, where the power of Brahma himself radiates in all its untold splendour.

This, O King, is the sabha where all weariness fades, the soul is unburdened, and the light of creation shines in endless glory."

Path to the Rajasuya Sacrifice

Yudhishthira, ever the seeker of wisdom, looked toward the great sage and spoke, his voice steady but carrying a deep yearning. "O lord! O supremely eloquent one! The world you have described seems to converge in the sabhas of the great lords. You say that the entire realm of kings finds its place in Vaivasvata's sabha. That is the sabha of Varuna, where the serpents, the mighty daityas, the rivers, and the vast oceans reside. The yakshas, Guhyakas, rakshasas, Gandharvas, apsaras, and even Shiva himself, the great Mahadeva, dwell in the sabha of the lord of riches. You speak of how the maharishis, the very deities, and the sacred scriptures are gathered in the sabha of the Grandfather, Brahma. And that in the illustrious sabha of Shatakratu, Indra, the gods, Gandharvas, and the wisest of sages are found.

But one thing intrigues me: O great sage! Among all the world's kings, why does only one raj rishi, Harishchandra, find a place in the sabha of the mighty Indra? What were his deeds? What made him so exceptional that he alone stands as Indra's equal? What was the strength of his austerities, the firmness of his vows, the purity of his character? Why does he shine above all others?"

Then, a different thought flickered through Yudhishthira's mind, touching his heart with longing. His voice softened, and a profound emotion surfaced. "O brahmana! When you travelled to the world of the ancestors, did you meet our Pitashree, the immensely fortunate Pandu? O illustrious one! What did he say? I long to hear his words. My curiosity is great, and I wish to know everything. Tell me all that transpired."

Narada's voice was steady as he began, his words carrying the weight of an ancient truth. "Since you have asked me about the greatness of the wise Harishchandra, hear me well, for his story is unparalleled. He was not merely a king but the sovereign of all kings on earth, their unquestioned ruler. No force could oppose him. Alone in his golden chariot, adorned with celestial brilliance, he rode forth, invincible. With the sheer power of his weapons, he conquered the seven dvipas, the seven great divisions of the world.

Having vanquished all who stood before him, he became the undisputed ruler of the land, with its towering mountains, dense forests, and vast groves. And in that triumph, he chose not indulgence but righteousness. He performed a great Rajasuya sacrifice, a ritual of supreme significance. At his command, kings from all corners of the world came bearing riches. They stood in service, offering their wealth, honouring the Brahmanas gathered there from every direction.

But Harishchandra was not merely a giver but a giver beyond measure. When the priests asked for offerings, he did not grant them what they sought. He granted them five times more. He gave without hesitation with gold, gems, grains, land, and whatever was desired. He poured forth his wealth like the rain-laden clouds in the monsoon. The Brahmanas, satiated and honoured with an abundance of food, luxuries, and priceless jewels, looked upon him and spoke words that echoed through time. 'Among all kings, he shines the brightest. None match his energy; none equal his fame.'

For this reason, Harishchandra's name resounds across the ages, more radiant than the glory of a thousand monarchs. When his great sacrifice was completed, he stood resplendent, reinstated in his kingdom, an emperor of immeasurable power. But his valid reward lay beyond this world. For those who perform the Rajasuya sacrifice, their fate is not bound to the earth alone. Once consecrated, such kings ascend to Indra's realm, their place among the gods secured.

O mighty one! It is not only the kings who rise to that celestial abode. Warriors who meet death upon the battlefield without retreat and stand unwavering in the face of death also attain that realm and live in bliss. And those who renounce all, giving up their mortal bodies after undergoing the harshest of austerities, they too reach that divine place and shine eternally."

Then, Narada fixed his gaze upon Yudhishthira. His voice carried the weight of destiny. "O son of Pandu! You, too, can conquer this earth. Your brothers stand beside you, steadfast as mountains. Perform the great Rajasuya sacrifice. This is your path. Walk it, and your name shall be written among the stars. In fulfilling this yajna, you will not only secure your place in Indra's world, but you will also honour the lineage of your ancestors. Your father, the mighty Pandu, shall look upon you with pride.

But know this, O king: The Rajasuya is not easy. It is riddled with trials, constrained by obstacles. Brahma Rakshasa's cursed spirits seek to devour the sanctity of sacrifices, ever watchful for the slightest flaw. Beware, for war may arise from this endeavour, shaking the earth. A single misstep, a minor cause, could lead to unfathomable destruction. Reflect on this, O lord of men! Weigh your choices carefully. Do only what is righteous, what is wise.

Be vigilant in protecting the four varnas and ensure the prosperity of your people. Rejoice in your duties, and above all, never forget to honour the Brahmanas with your generosity. With this, I have told you all that you wished to know. If you permit, I shall now take my leave and return to the city of the Dasharhas."

As Narada departed, the air in Indraprastha's sabha grew heavy with thought. Silence stretched between the Pandavas as they processed his words.

Vasusena first turned toward Yudhishthira, his sharp eyes reflecting caution and ambition. Bheema's fingers clenched into a fist. Nakula and Sahadeva exchanged glances, understanding passing between them without words. Draupadi, her gaze steady, oversaw her husband, knowing the weight of the choice before him. And Yudhishthira... he sat still, his mind an ocean of thoughts. The path ahead was clear yet treacherous. Was the Rajasuya Yajna indeed his destiny? Would he walk the path of Harishchandra and ascend to Indra's realm? Or would this decision lead to the very destruction Narada had warned of?

As the sun set over Indraprastha, the Pandavas began to deliberate upon the great sacrifice, unaware that this single decision would set in motion a chain of events that would forever change the course of history.

Note:

Ashwatthama learned the Narayan Astra; however, I have taken the creative liberty to depict his Pitamah, Rishi Bharadwaj, as the one who bestowed it upon him.

The creations of Maya Asura, as described in the original manuscripts, have been kept authentic and unchanged.

Multiple texts narrate Krishna's marriage to Bhadra. Here, I have chosen to follow the version presented in the Bhagavata Purana.

I understand that this chapter, which primarily focuses on the grand assembly halls of divine realms, might feel lengthy or slow-paced. However, its significance will become evident in the upcoming chapters.