Pandu stood at the heart of the royal palace, a place that had been his home, his source of power, and his burden. The golden walls, the soft silken cushions, the magnificent robes—all the riches that once seemed like a testament to his greatness now felt like chains that weighed him down. Once proud and regal, his heart felt heavy with a deep sorrow that seemed to consume him from within. Both Kunti and Madri ran behind him and stopped him.

Kunti's heart shattered as she stepped forward, her voice quivering. "Arya... why? Why must you leave everything? The kingdom, your people... us." Her eyes, filled with a storm of emotions, searched his face, hoping, for some reason, some explanation that would make this cruel decision bearable. "You are the king. You have the strength to rule, right your wrongs, and rebuild what has been broken. You cannot just abandon us."

Pandu's gaze softened, but the resolve in his eyes was unwavering. "I am no longer fit to rule, Kunti," he replied, his voice strained. "This throne, these riches... they are nothing but a mask that hides the truth. I have failed my people, I have failed myself, and I have failed you. The weight of my curse, the agony of my desires, and the blood of the innocent—the burden is too great for me to bear any longer. I cannot wear this crown with a clear conscience."

Madri, her face pale, stepped forward, her voice a whisper of disbelief. "Arya, you cannot leave us. We are your wives, your partners. We swore to live with you in joy, sorrow, riches, and poverty. We cannot live without you." Her words broke through the silence like the sound of a broken string.

Pandu's heart tore at their pain, but the decision had already been made. "You will live, my loves," he said, his voice low and regretful. "I cannot drag you into the life I must now lead. The forest calls me. There, I will live in simplicity, without desires, without a crown. I will seek redemption, and if fate wills it, perhaps I will return one day."

Tears welled in Kunti's eyes as she took a step back. She could not fathom the idea of living without Pandu, the man she loved and who had been her everything. "But why go alone?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "We are your wives. We are bound to you in every way. We will follow you, Arya. We will endure the same hardships and face the same trials. If you leave, we will lose our will to live. We cannot bear the thought of being without you."

Madri's voice, though softer, echoed the same sentiments. "If you leave, you take our hearts with you. We will share your suffering and your penance. We will wear tree bark and live off roots. We will perform daily rituals and live in solitude, but we will not live without you."

Pandu's eyes filled with unshed tears as he gazed at his wives. The love they offered him, unconditional and pure, was a balm to his broken soul, but it also made his decision all the more difficult. "You are all I have left, Kunti, Madri. I do not deserve your love, your loyalty. But I will be forever grateful if you choose to come with me. I will not stop you, but I beg you to understand that the path I must walk is not one of luxury. It is one of suffering and penance, and I would not wish that upon you."

As the weight of his words settled into their hearts, they nodded in unison, their eyes filled with resolve. "We will follow you, Arya," Kunti said, her voice firm despite the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. "No matter where you go or what path you choose, we will be by your side."

Madri, her face pale but resolute, added, "Together, we will endure."

Bhishma, who had been silent up to this point, stepped forward, his voice heavy with concern. "Pandu," he said, his tone filled with sorrow, "I understand your need to seek penance, but what of the kingdom? Who will manage Hastinapur in your absence?"

Pandu's face softened, and he took a deep breath. "Until my son Vasusena returns, I leave the kingdom in your hands, Tatshree. You will be the regent. I know you cannot sit upon the throne as a king, but you are the true protector of this family, the guardian of its legacy. You are the only one capable of holding this dynasty together. You will guide my brother Dritarashtra, and he will listen to you, as will Vidura."

Bhishma's heart felt heavy with the responsibility Pandu had placed upon him. "I will do as you ask, Pandu," he said, his voice filled with reverence and sorrow. "But I fear for you, for your soul. What is the price of abandoning the throne, of leaving all that you have built?"

Pandu turned to him, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "The price is the only one I can pay, Tatshree. My soul is burdened with guilt, with failure. I cannot remain here, playing a role I no longer believe in. I must seek redemption, even if it means sacrificing everything."

With those final words, Pandu turned to his wives, his eyes filled with sorrow and love. Together, they would leave the kingdom behind, walking into the unknown future, with nothing but their faith in each other and the hope that their sacrifices would someday lead them to the peace they desperately sought. And so, with a heavy heart and a soul torn by his own decisions, Pandu stepped away from the throne that had once been his and walked into the forest, leaving the riches, the kingdom, and the life he had known behind.

Niyati had played her game once again, making Pandu utter the words that Bhishma would be the regent until his son Vasusena returned. Though Dritarashtra might sit on the throne, he has to listen to the words of Bhishma and Vidura.

Niyati's Gambit

Niyati, the weaver of destinies, had struck her threads again, intertwining lives in her intricate design.

Everyone recalls what Pandu, standing in the great assembly, his voice steady yet tinged with resignation, spoke the words that sent ripples through the halls of Hastinapur: "Until my son Vasusena returns to claim his rightful place, Tatshree shall act as the regent. Though Jyeshta Dritarashtra may sit upon the throne, it is Tatshree and Vidura to whom he must defer. Their wisdom shall guide the kingdom, ensuring it does not falter in my absence."

A tense silence fell, broken only by the faint murmur of astonishment among the courtiers. Dritarashtra's hands gripped the throne's armrests, his knuckles white with suppressed emotion. His heart burned with the sting of humiliation masked as duty, his title now shadowed by the unwavering command of the grandsire. The prospect of holding the throne but not its true power was a bitter pill to swallow.

Bhishma's face, stern as ever, softened for a fleeting moment. He saw the turmoil in Pandu's eyes, a mixture of guilt, love, and duty. The words spoken were not entirely Pandu's own—they bore the unmistakable mark of fate. Niyati had played her game, ensuring that power would remain in hands guided by Dharma, not ambition.

Kunti and Madri exchanged glances, understanding the storm brewing in the room.

Always calm and composed, Vidura stepped forward, his voice a soothing balm over the tension. "This is a wise decision, my lords. Bhishma's guidance and the collective wisdom of this family will safeguard Hastinapur. Let us not question what has been decreed, for it is the will of destiny."

But in the shadows, Niyati smiled. In Pandu's proclamation, she had not merely ensured the kingdom's stability—she had planted seeds of discontent, ambition, and intrigue. A fragile balance had been struck that could either preserve the Kuru lineage or shatter it completely.

And so, the game continued.

Dritarashtra's Agony Unfolds

Pandu's announcement stunned the royal family. They came forward to speak with him individually, their voices laden with emotion.

Ambalika, Pandu's mother, was the first. She held his hands tightly, her tears flowing freely. "Why, my son? Why do you choose exile over ruling the kingdom you have fought to protect? Just a mother's heartbreak yet again?"

Pandu lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. "Mata, it is my curse to bear. This is not abandonment but atonement. My absence will protect this family, this kingdom."

Bhishma stepped forward, his face a mask of restraint, though his eyes betrayed a deep sorrow. "Pandu, I have upheld my vows for this dynasty and shall continue to do so. But to burden the kingdom once more with regency when we need stability—why must it come to this?"

Pandu touched Bhishma's feet with reverence. "Tatshree, you are the pillar of the Kuru lineage. Who better than you to guide this kingdom in my absence? My trust in you is unshaken, and I know you will protect Vasusena's claim until he returns."

Vidura, ever the voice of reason, spoke next. "Brata, I understand your guilt, but leaving the throne vulnerable, even for a just cause, is a gamble. Jyeshta may sit on the throne, but do you not see the turmoil it might cause?"

"I have considered it, Vidura," Pandu replied. "But this is the only way to preserve the lineage without staining it further with my sins."

Finally, Gandhari approached Pandu with trembling steps. "Pandu, my heart aches for you, but what of your son? Will he not need you? Will he understand why you chose penance over fatherhood?"

"I trust the family will nurture him, Bhabhishree," Pandu said, his voice breaking. "I trust you, all of you, to protect him as your own."

As the family fell silent, Dritarashtra finally stood, his face contorted with suppressed anguish. His blind eyes, though sightless, seemed to burn with the intensity of his inner turmoil.

"So, Pandu, you trust the family to nurture your son. You trust Bhishma to guard the throne. You trust Vidura to offer wisdom. And what of me, your elder brother? Am I so unworthy of your trust that you appoint others to guide my reign? Do you not see the insult you deliver wrapped in the guise of duty?"

Pandu turned to face Dritarashtra, his expression heavy with regret. "Jyeshta, it is not about trust or worthiness. This is about Dharma and the kingdom's stability. You are the king, but Tatshree's guidance is needed to ensure Dharma is followed in the Kuru dynasty."

"Not Dharma, you are thinking about your son's rightful place?" Dritarashtra's voice rose, trembling with emotion. "And what of my future children, Pandu? Am I to sit here, knowing my child's claim is overshadowed by a child yet to return? Is this the justice you speak of?"

His voice cracked, and he turned his face toward the assembly, his anguish spilling. "All my life, I have been denied. Denied my father's sight. Denied my claim to the throne. And now, denied the dignity of ruling without the shadow of Tatshree and Vidura looming over me. Am I not the king of this land? Or am I just a placeholder for the son of Pandu?"

The room fell into a strained silence. Gandhari stepped forward, placing a hand on Dritarashtra's arm. "Arya, do not let your sorrow cloud your judgment. This is for the good of the kingdom. Our son's destiny will unfold in time."

But her words did little to soothe the storm within him. "Cloud my judgment?" Dritarashtra spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "It is not my judgment that is clouded, Gandhari—it is my existence that has been eclipsed. How many more sacrifices must I endure? How much more must I accept before being seen as something more than a blind man unfit to rule?"

His words lingered in the hall, a bitter echo of a wounded heart. Even as the family looked on, helpless, the torment within Dritarashtra raged on, a storm that no words could quell. Niyati had again played its hand, sowing seeds of pain in a heart already laden with grief.

Pandu's Farewell and Dritarashtra's Agony

The peaceful garden echoed with the heavy silence of a decision that would change everything for the Kuru family. With a heart weighed down by sorrow, Pandu followed his elder brother Dritarashtra into the garden's quiet. Behind them stood Bhishma, Vidura, and Gandhari, each with sorrowful thoughts.

"Jyeshta," Pandu began, his voice thick with emotion, "I've told you this before, and I'm telling you again—probably for the last time—because I may never return." He paused, searching for the right words that could mend the gulf that had begun to form between them. "Trust me when I say you are the best brother, son, and confidant one could ever ask for. But there are things about you that I cannot ignore anymore. You trust people too easily, judge them too quickly, and are led too often by your anger. It's because of your blindness that you feel insecure that you feel the need to prove yourself to everyone around you. But in trying to prove yourself, Jyeshta, you often make decisions that hurt those you love and hurt the Kingdom."

His words, though tender, were sharp as they cut through the air. Dritarashtra stood still, his face a mask of conflict and pain. Pandu's eyes softened with affection as he continued, "I'm not saying this because I don't trust you, Jyeshta. It would be like I didn't trust myself if I didn't trust you. You are the embodiment of love for me. But right now, you must understand that you cannot carry the burden of the Kingdom alone. I have asked Tatshree and Vidura to guide you because they know the weight of responsibility and the path of wisdom. Not because I doubt you, but because I want you to learn to lead from a place of understanding, not anger."

The weight of Pandu's words seemed to hang in the air, and Gandhari, standing at a distance, wept silently as she listened. She knew her husband like no one else, and today, seeing Pandu's deep affection for his brother, she understood the kind of man Pandu indeed was—a king with the heart of a brother and the wisdom of one who had always put his family first.

Pandu turned to the Kuru kingdom's treasures, summoning his attendants. "Go," he instructed, his voice heavy with finality. "Return to the people of Hastinapur and announce to the Kingdom that Pandu, with his wives, has gone into the woods, forsaking wealth, desires, happiness, and even our natural appetites."

But as Pandu spoke, Dritarashtra's face betrayed the most significant pain. Unable to contain the agony that was consuming him, he broke down, the tears falling freely as he wept for his brother's sacrifice. Gandhari, ever the steady presence beside him, comforted him with soft words, though her heart ached for the truth they both faced.

"Why, Pandu?" Dritarashtra whispered, his voice breaking. "Why must you leave us like this? We are all here, ready to walk beside you, to help you bear the weight of what you carry."

But Pandu's decision was made. There was no turning back, no more words to undo his chosen path. He looked at his brother, his eyes filled with quiet, resolute love, and whispered, "You must trust me, Jyeshta. You must trust that this is the right path for me, for all of us. I do not because I want to leave but because I must. For my soul, for my duty."

With that, Pandu and his wives, Kunti and Madri, gave away their wealth—jewels, gold, and garments—and set their sights on a life of austerity, leaving behind the comforts of the palace.

As the family stood in the garden, Pandu's final words echoed through their hearts, each carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. Still, in his torment, Dritarashtra could not shake the bitter sting of his failings. The shame, the guilt, the feeling that he had lost his place beside his brother haunted him.

Gandhari, ever so gentle and loving, embraced her husband, her tears mingling with his. But there was a recognition in her eyes—the depths of love and sacrifice Pandu had shown and the heart-wrenching truth that nothing could undo the chain of events set into motion.

In that moment, the Kuru family stood divided by the pain of Pandu's departure, yet bound together by a shared understanding that love, duty, and sacrifice came at the highest cost.

The Union of Wisdom and Virtue

A couple of months had passed since Pandu's departure into the forest, and the air in Hastinapur was thick with unspoken emotions. The Kuru dynasty seemed to tremble under the weight of uncertainty, the future unclear without the guiding presence of the King. Meanwhile, across the realm, a quiet change was brewing—one that would alter the course of events for the Kuru family.

News reached Bhishma that a noble maiden, Aruni, lived in King Devaka's household. She was said to possess the rare combination of youth, beauty, and grace. What made her even more remarkable, however, was the mysteriousness surrounding her birth—begotten upon a Sudra wife, she was a daughter of humble origins, yet her virtues were said to match her beauty.

Curious and knowing the importance of wisdom and lineage for the future of the Kuru dynasty, Bhishma wasted no time bringing this fair maiden from her father's abode. The Kuru patriarch, mindful of the circumstances, knew that an alliance founded on wisdom and virtue would offer a solution for the kingdom and the future ahead.

Then, with great consideration, Bhishma arranged for the maiden to be married to Vidura—the one whose wisdom was known far and wide, who embodied justice and righteousness in every step he took. The union was not just one of convenience but of profound significance. With his unmatched intellect and compassion, Vidura would father children destined to carry forth these very virtues. The union between the two was among the most thoughtful and strategic moves the Kuru family had recently seen.