As the first light of dawn painted the horizon in hues of gold and crimson, the five Pandavas, accompanied by their mother Kunti and Niyati, embarked on their northward journey along smooth, well-trodden roads. The weight of destiny hung heavy upon their shoulders, yet they pressed forward, resolute in their purpose. Arjuna, bearing a flaming torch, led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness to ensure his family's safety.

Their journey was relentless, spanning day and night, until they arrived at the hallowed pilgrimage site of Somashravayana. There, they beheld the sacred waters of the Ganga, its divine presence filling them with awe and reverence. By the time they reached the riverbank, night had descended, cloaking the land in an ethereal silence. The moon, a silver sentinel in the heavens, cast its luminescence upon the flowing waters, making them shimmer like liquid pearls. The gentle ripples carried whispers of ancient hymns, and a cool, fragrant breeze carried the scent of lotus blossoms, soothing their weary souls. The celestial river, illuminated by the reflection of the stars, appeared as if the cosmos had descended to touch the earth.

Amidst this serene beauty, a discordant presence made itself known. In the depths of the Ganga, the jealous king of the Gandharvas, Angaraparna, reveled in the waters with his celestial consorts. The moment his keen ears caught the approaching footsteps of the Pandavas and their companions, his pleasure turned to wrath.

The Gandharva's eyes gleamed with anger as he seized his mighty bow, his voice ringing out in an imperious command: "Who dares disturb these waters during the sacred hours of the night? Foolish mortals, have you no wisdom? It is decreed that humans may tread only for the first eighty instants of twilight, where we, the Yakshas, Gandharvas, and Rakshasas, reign supreme. Those who disregard this law meet their doom. Even kings with vast armies dare not approach the sacred river at such a time. And yet, you tread upon my domain, oblivious to the peril that awaits you. Know that I am Angaraparna, beloved of Kubera, ruler of these waters and the forests beyond! Leave at once, or face my wrath!"

Arjuna, undeterred, stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. His voice, calm yet laced with steel, carried through the night: "You speak of dominion over the Ganga, yet who can claim the ocean, the Himalayas, or the sacred river that flows from celestial heights? This divine river belongs to all. It is not bound by the whims of one being, no matter how mighty. Ganga, descending from the heavens, is known as Alakananda in the celestial realms, Vaitarani among the ancestors, and Bhagirathi in this world. It is the very lifeline of dharma. You seek to bar us from its waters, but your claim is baseless. The wise do not bend to the threats of arrogance and vanity."

Angaraparna's fury erupted like wildfire. With a snarl, he raised his bow and unleashed a volley of flaming arrows, each streaking toward Arjuna like venomous serpents seeking their prey. But Partha stood firm, his shield raised. He parried the blazing missiles with deft movements, the torchlight in his hand casting defiant shadows against the riverbank.

"You overestimate your power, Gandharva," Arjuna declared, his voice cutting through the night. "Do not think that mere mortals are defenseless against your might. We are warriors skilled in battle, and I wield weapons blessed by the divine. If you seek to test your strength against mine, let it not be with trickery but with true might."

Arjuna invoked the Agneya astra, the weapon of fire passed down through generations from Brihaspati to Bharadvaja, Agniveshya to Drona, and finally to him. The blazing arrow shot forth, engulfing Angaraparna's chariot in an inferno. The Gandharva, overwhelmed by the searing force of the divine weapon, was hurled from his chariot, crashing onto the riverbank in a daze.

Seizing the fallen Gandharva by his long, flower-adorned hair, Arjuna dragged him toward his brothers, his victory complete. Angaraparna's consort, the celestial Kumbhinasi, rushed forward, her voice trembling with desperation. "Rajkumar Yudhishthira! I seek your mercy. Spare my husband's life, for he is now defenceless before you."

Yudhishthira, ever compassionate, looked upon the vanquished Gandharva and spoke with wisdom: "A true warrior does not strike a fallen foe, nor does he take pride in the defeat of one who can no longer resist. He who seeks sanctuary shall not be harmed under my protection. Arjuna, release him."

Arjuna nodded and stepped back. "Gandharva, you have your life. Go, and let this battle be a lesson to you."

Angaraparna, humbled and grateful, bowed his head. "You have bested me, and in doing so, you have earned my respect. No longer shall I call myself Angaraparna, for your weapon has burned my chariot. I was once known as Chitraratha, but now I shall be called Dagdharatha, the charred charioteer. In gratitude for sparing my life, I offer you a great value gift."

With reverence, he imparted the knowledge of chakshushi, the divine sight that granted one the vision of all three worlds. "This wisdom passed down from Manu to Soma and Vishvavasu to me is now yours. With it, you shall see the unseen, unravel the veils of mystery, and perceive all that lies beyond mortal sight."

He continued, "Furthermore, to each of you, I offer a hundred celestial horses from the land of the Gandharvas. These steeds possess the speed of thought, never tire, and are fit to carry gods themselves. They shall serve you well in the battles to come."

Arjuna, ever humble, clasped his hands in gratitude. "Dagdharatha, your gift is generous, but I seek not wealth or power. I cherish the wisdom and the honour of battle fought with righteousness. May there always be understanding between our realms."

The Gandharva bowed in reverence and said, "Arjuna, an encounter with a great soul is always a source of immense fulfilment. But beyond that, you have granted me my very life—a debt I cannot overlook. In my gratitude, I bestow upon you sacred knowledge, a gift beyond measure. O bull among the Bharatas! Vibhatsu! Yet, an exchange must be made for true friendship to be balanced. Therefore, to ensure our bond remains eternal, I shall take from you the supreme agenda weapon, and in return, this friendship shall be forever sealed."

Arjuna, filled with magnanimity, smiled and replied, "Dagdharatha! I shall accept your celestial horses in place of my weapon, for a friendship built on trust and honour is far greater than any armament. May our bond stand strong for all time. Now, tell me—how may we safeguard ourselves against the perils posed by your kin and why we were stopped by you?"

The Tale of Tapati

In the celestial realms where the Yakshas, Rakshasas, Gandharvas, Pishachis, Uragas, and Danavas reside—beings of wisdom and profound knowledge—the history of the Kuru race was well known. The Gandharva, who had traversed the earth bound by its vast seas, spoke to Arjuna, acknowledging the great deeds of his ancestors and the prowess of his lineage.

He recognized Arjuna's teacher, the illustrious Drona, renowned throughout the three worlds for his mastery of the Vedas and the science of arms. Yet, despite knowing the valour and virtue of the Pandavas, he had censured them, for it was unbecoming of mighty warriors to suffer dishonor in the presence of their wives.

The Gandharva, acknowledging his defeat, revealed the reason behind his loss. He explains, "The Brahmacharya mode of life, the state in which you are currently is, granted unparalleled strength, rendering you as an invincible. A married Kshatriya fighting at night could never escape with life against the Gandharvas, but one sanctified with Brahmacharya and guided by a learned priest could triumph over all nocturnal wanderers." He emphasized the paramount importance of a wise Brahmana to a king's rule, for only a monarch with an accomplished priest could sustain his kingdom and acquire prosperity.

Curious about the Gandharva's repeated use of 'Tapatya,' Arjuna inquired about its significance. The Gandharva then began narrating a tale well-known across the three worlds, the story of Tapati.

Dagdharatha says, "In the celestial realms, Tapati, daughter of the sun god Surya, shone with unparalleled beauty. King Samvarana, a mighty Kuru ruler, was smitten by her radiance while hunting in the mountains. Though Tapati vanished, leaving the king heartbroken, she reappeared, revealing her identity and urging Samvarana to seek her father's blessing.

With the sage Vashishtha's intervention, Surya agreed to bestow Tapati upon Samvarana. The king married Tapati in the Gandharva tradition and spent twelve blissful years with her in seclusion. However, their kingdom suffered a devastating drought during their absence.

Vashishtha's divine power eventually restored Samvarana to his throne, and with Tapati by his side, the kingdom flourished once more. Their union produced a son, Kuru, who became a renowned ascetic. Their legendary lineage continued through Arjuna, earning him the name "Tapatya."

A Bond of Trust

Arjuna, with his heart full of wisdom and the weight of responsibility upon him, turned toward the Gandharva and spoke with quiet reverence, his voice carrying the respect of a prince and the wisdom of a warrior.

"Dagdharatha! You, who are versed in the world's deepest secrets, know all there is to know. Who among the learned in the sacred Vedas is fit to be appointed as our priest? We seek a sage who is as steadfast in his knowledge as he is in his penance to guide our actions in righteousness."

The wise and all-knowing Gandharva smiled gently, understanding the gravity of the question. His gaze was as calm as the still waters of a lake yet deep as the night sky. He replied in a tone that resonated with the harmony of the universe itself.

"There is a sacred tirtha in this very forest, known as Utkochaka," he began, his voice a soft murmur from the breeze. "There, Devala's younger brother, Dhoumya, resides in meditation and austerities. He is the one you seek. A man of profound knowledge, his life devoted to the Vedas and the path of truth. If it is your wish, you can appoint him as your priest. His wisdom will surely lead you on the right path."

Arjuna nodded in gratitude, his eyes alight with the spark of understanding. The decision was clear to him now. The weight of the task before them was immense, but their path would be righteous with Dhoumya, a guide of such caliber. He turned toward the Gandharva, and with the grace of a king honouring a noble guest, he offered his weapon—the Agneya, a gift of profound power.

The exchange was filled with respect, each movement a ritual of reverence. Arjuna's voice rang with sincerity as he spoke. "Dagdharatha, I give you this weapon in accordance with the prescribed rituals. May it serve you well. For now, keep the horses in your care. When we require them, we shall take them from you. May you be blessed for your guidance."

The Gandharva, humbled by Arjuna's gesture, bowed with grace, his form blending with the air as if becoming one with the very essence of the forest. He acknowledged the Pandavas' wisdom with a respectful nod, and the exchange was complete.

The Sage's Blessing

As the Pandavas arrived at the hermitage, they were greeted by Dhoumya, who was as serene and unwavering as the mountains themselves. His wisdom was vast, and his heart pure. He bowed to the brothers and offered them water to wash their feet—a symbol of deep respect and devotion.

Dhoumya, with a humble but proud voice, said, "O sons of Pritha, you honour me by seeking my guidance. I shall accept your request and serve as your priest. May the blessings of the Vedas guide you on your path."

The Pandavas, filled with gratitude, respectfully accepted his offer.

Arjuna spoke with conviction: "Rishi Dhoumya, with your presence at our side, we are emboldened. With you as our guide, we feel ready to face whatever lies ahead. We shall reclaim our kingdom and win the heart of Panchali in the Swayamvar."

Dhoumya smiled, his eyes glinting with wisdom, as he replied, "Arjuna, you already possess the strength to win your kingdom within you. It is not the riches or the lands that make a king but the virtue and valour within his heart. Your spirits, your perseverance, your strength—these are the qualities that will guide you to your destiny."

Inspired by his words, the Pandavas stood taller, their resolve growing stronger.

Bhima spoke next, his voice filled with a rare humility: "We are grateful, Rishi Dhoumya. With your wisdom, we shall find our way. The Swayamvar in Panchala awaits us, and we shall not falter."

Dhoumya, sensing their growth, spoke with quiet pride: "You have already attained the qualities that make a king. The rest is but a matter of time. I will teach you the ways of the Vedas, but know this: you already possess the knowledge you need within you. You have been restored to your kingdom by your own virtues."

Arjuna, filled with a new sense of purpose, said: "With your blessing, Rishi Dhoumya, we shall go forth. Together, with our sister Niyati, we are stronger. The Swayamvar is ours to win."

Dhoumya, raising his hand in blessing, spoke softly: "Go, sons of Pritha. Go with my blessing. Your hearts are pure, and your path is clear. The kingdom awaits you, and so does your destiny."

A Question of Intent

The scene unfolded under a sky tinted with the golden hues of the setting sun. Niyati, standing tall like the tree she resembled, gazed at the horizon. Her eyes were steady, yet a quiet storm was brewing within them. She sensed their arrival before they even stepped into her view. Their hearts brimming with hopes and uncertainties, the five Pandavas approached her.

Arjuna, stepped forward with a firm resolve. His voice rang out, filled with determination. "We are going to the Swayamvar."

Niyati, ever the silent observer, raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "As?"

Arjuna met her gaze, his voice unwavering. "We thought about it, Niyati. We will not share her among ourselves. Each of us will stand for the contest. We will see what the Swayamvar demands. If it is wisdom, Brata Yudhishthira will stand. If it is mace fighting, then Brata Bhima will rise. If it is the bow and arrow, I shall take my place. If it is the sword, Nakula will fight. And if it is the axe, Sahadeva will step forward. Once we marry her, she will be our equal. If she marries the eldest, she will be our Mata. If she chooses the youngest, she will be our sister. We will cherish her no less than that."

Niyati's lips curved into a knowing smile, but her eyes betrayed the deep understanding she held. "Thoughts are fickle, Brata Partha," she said softly. "Are you sure you will all stand by these words, no matter what you hear, see, or feel when facing her in the Swayamvar?"

Arjuna's words were resolute. "We promise—"

But before he could finish, Niyati raised her hand, halting him. "Do not promise me anything, Brata Arjuna," she said, her voice calm but heavy. "A promise or an oath - it is binding you all of the desires, which will revolt either today or tomorrow. I do not need fragile promises. What matters is what you do, not what you say. Let me see today."

Yudhishthira, calm yet heavy with the weight of leadership, spoke up, "Whatever fate decides, we shall accept it, Niyati."

A shadow of sadness passed over Niyati's face. "Fate?" she mused. "Fate is not a predetermined path—it is merely the question life poses to you. The moment you choose, that choice becomes the answer. And fate, then, will ensure to continue the thread based on your choice."

She turned away slightly, the words hanging in the air, before adding, "Let's go, or else it will be too late."

The Pandavas stood still for a moment, their minds racing. The words they had spoken, the promises they had made—was it all truly as simple as they had believed?

Sahadeva, ever the curious one, could no longer hold his thoughts. "You spoke of one who is the amalgamation of all five of us," he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Who is he? Is he present at the Swayamvar?"

His question pierced through the silence, and each Pandavas felt a knot form in their stomachs. What if the princess chose him? What if they lost before they even had a chance to try?

Niyati turned to them, her gaze sharp and unyielding. "Let me ask you this," she began, her voice carrying an edge of sadness. "You five are intrigued by her beauty and past, and you wish to make her your wife for the kingdom she carries. You think this will make you stand strong against your cousins, correct?"

No one answered her at first, but Niyati's eyes met Yudhishthira's, and she asked once more, this time with a quiet but unmistakable challenge, "Brata Dharmaraj?"

Yudhishthira, ever the pillar of truth, lowered his head slightly, his silence betraying the admission he could not escape. He nodded solemnly.

At this, Niyati let out a bitter chuckle, and there was a gleam of tears in her eyes. "Ah," she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with sorrow and disbelief. "So, it is true."

The Pandavas felt as though a cold hand had gripped their hearts. Bhima, his heart already heavy with guilt, spoke first. "Niyati... You are our sister. Please, do not cry. Your tears... they hurt us more than anything. Please don't cry."

Niyati looked at him, her eyes full of sorrow, and her words came as a soft, stinging rebuke. "I am a woman," she said, trembling. "I do not like the idea of someone winning my hand for the sake of kingdoms or conquests. Yet, here I stand, watching as the five of you, despite knowing the Vedas, still look at me as a prize—a possession to win, to be flaunted. And I thought you would be different."

The Pandavas were silent, their hearts heavy with guilt and shame, but Niyati was not done. Her voice grew more firm, more piercing. "You speak of dharma, but where is the righteousness in this? When Brata Krishna said Dharmaraj would change the world and rebuild dharma in its truest form, I trusted him. I believed in you, Yudhishthira. But today, you have shown me that you are no different from the rest."

A tense silence fell over them, their hearts sinking with the weight of her words.

"Then tell us, Niyati," Bhima said, anguish lining his voice. "How can we win her heart? Today the Swayamvar will start. If we do not win, someone else will. If we lose, we lose her. With us, she will be respected; she will be cherished. We will never dishonor her. We will hold her as dear as we hold the bonds of our family. But you know, Niyati, we don't have time for courtship. You know it's true."

Niyati shook her head slowly, her voice tinged with sorrow as she responded. "I know you don't have time, Brata Bhima. But the words you speak... they hold power. The way you speak shows who you are. Did any of you speak with the same fervor, the same strength? No, you all simply nodded in agreement with Brata Yudhishthira. And remember, he is not always right. He is not God."

Her words cut through them, each one feeling the sting of truth. Without another word, Niyati turned, her back to them as she began to walk away, her head held high but her heart heavy with grief.

The Pandavas, moved by guilt and reflection, followed her, knowing their path was now irrevocably changed.

The Road to the Swayamvar

The five Pandava brothers, their mother Kunti, and their companion Niyati journeyed towards the magnificent kingdom of Panchala. Their hearts were heavy with anticipation, their minds clouded with questions. The air was thick with the unspoken promise of the great event—Draupadi's Swayamvar, the divine festival that would change their lives.

As they walked through the land, they encountered a group of Brahmanas travelling in the same direction, their faces bright with purpose. The Pandavas, disguised as humble Brahmacharis, were met with the inquiry that had been whispered for miles.

"Where are you going?" the Brahmanas asked, their voices tinged with curiosity. "And from where have you come?"

Yudhishthira, his voice steady but carrying the weight of truth, answered with the dignity he could muster. "O Brahmanas, know that we are humble brothers, travelling from Ekachakra with our mother and sister."

The Brahmanas, their faces filled with recognition and awe, spoke in unison, their words carrying a sense of wonder. "Then, you should go to the house of Drupada of Panchala. There, a great Swayamvar will be held, one that will be the talk of the world. Many kings, princes, performers, warriors, and holy men from distant lands will be present. There will be no lack of riches, honour, or prestige. Yajnasena Drupada, the great king, has a daughter who arose from the midst of a blazing sacrificial altar, a being as radiant as the fire itself. Her eyes are like lotus petals, her beauty and wisdom unmatched. She is the sister of Dhrishtadyumna, who emerged from the fire, resplendent and armed with a bow and sword. And she—Draupadi—is the one who will choose her husband at this Swayamvar."

The words of the Brahmanas painted a picture of splendour, of the divine nature of the event, and of Draupadi's unmatched beauty. She was the golden prize of a kingdom, the hope of a land, and the dream of many hearts.

"We are going there ourselves," one of the Brahmanas continued, his voice full of excitement. "Come with us, witness the grand spectacle. There will be kings, princes, and warriors of every kind—handsome, mighty, and skilled in weapons. They will vie for her hand, offering abundant riches, food, and animals. And you, young princes, you look like gods. You are powerful, noble, and handsome. One among you may just win the heart of this goddess-like woman. Your strength, arms, and might could secure the victory."

Yudhishthira, ever the one to carry the leadership mantle with grace and humility, responded in kind. "We will go with you to witness this supreme, divine festival—the lady's Swayamvar."

And so, with the Brahmanas leading them, the Pandavas set forth towards the southern lands of Panchala, their hearts heavy with the uncertain weight of fate. As they travelled, they encountered the illustrious sage Dwaipayana, a being of unparalleled purity whose presence seemed to calm the air around them.

The Pandavas, ever respectful, offered their obeisance, their heads bowed in reverence. The wise and perceptive sage acknowledged them with warmth and, after their brief but meaningful conversation, directed them to Drupada's palace.

The Pandavas, though weary from their travels, were not deterred. They continued their journey slowly, taking in the beauty of the forests, the serenity of the lakes, and the splendour of the land surrounding them. The gentle breeze, the distant sound of rivers, and the fragrance of flowers were all part of a world they no longer truly belonged to, yet it welcomed them.

At last, they reached the city of Panchala, a place of unmatched beauty, its royal residence shining like a beacon of wealth and power. However, knowing the weight of their purpose, the Pandavas chose to lodge in the humble house of a potter, living like Brahmanas. They donned the guise of simplicity, and in the quiet of the night, they begged for their food as true ascetics would.

Torn Hearts

That night, a heavy silence hung in the air of the humble abode as if the walls could sense the storm brewing. The Pandavas sat lost in their thoughts, each struggling with the coming day's weight. Their mother, Kunti, sat apart, her hands folded in prayer. She sought blessings for her sons and the destiny that seemed to loom over them like an unseen shadow. Her heart, though heavy, was full of a mother's unspoken hopes.

Then, as if moved by some divine will, Kunti rose quietly and walked over to Niyati, the gentlewoman who had become their companion and guide on this journey. There was something in Kunti's eyes—a quiet urgency, a feeling that the fabric of fate was beginning to stretch and strain, about to break.

"Putri," Kunti said softly, yet with a weight that carried through the stillness, "when we were in Varanāvata, you spoke of a time when we would all meet in Panchala. Can we meet him there? Will Vasusena come?"

The mention of Vasusena—her eldest son, the one who had always been the cornerstone of their family—brought an instant heaviness to the air. The name fell like a stone among the brothers.

It wasn't just the mention of a brother; it was the echo of the idea that their oldest sibling—Vasusena—might be a part of the grand Swayamvar they had all travelled to witness. At that moment, the gravity of the situation deepened.

They had always thought of the five of them, bound by Mahadeva's blessing. But never before had they truly considered their eldest brother, Vasusena, the one whose very purpose had been to conquer kingdoms and restore them to dignity and respect. He had always been a warrior, a protector—a force beyond them. The thought that he might win the hearts of Rajkumari Draupadi and change the course of their future unsettled something deep within each of them.

As Kunti's question hung in the air, the brothers lowered their heads, their thoughts racing. Niyati, with her quiet wisdom, broke the silence, her words both gentle and foreboding.

"Yes, Bua," Niyati replied, her voice soft but firm. "He will be there. Jyeshta Vasusena will be present at the Swayamvar of the Rajkumari Panchali. Not only he but my Jyeshta Balarama and Brata Krishna will also be there. Even Yuyutsu will come.

As for Pitamah and Kaka Shree, I don't think they will attend tomorrow's ceremony. But should Jyeshta Vasusena win the Swayamvar, then perhaps they will come."

Kunti's eyes softened at the mention of her eldest son, and for the first time that night, a small smile touched her lips. She had always feared the division of Draupadi's heart among five men, knowing the pain it could bring. As a woman, Kunti understood that no woman deserved such a fate.

But there was something different for Vasusena—her firstborn, the one who carried the weight of their lineage. Draupadi, with her purity and her sense of Dharma, would be the one to elevate their family further. Kunti closed her eyes momentarily as if seeking a blessing from the heavens above.

"I will be happy if Rajkumari Krishnaa chooses Vasusena tomorrow," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't want her life to be divided into five. She deserves more. She should become the Queen; her life should be whole, not torn. I will pray to Narayan for this, for her to be the Queen, and for my son to be the King beside her."

The words pierced through the hearts of the five brothers. They had always adored their eldest sibling, Vasusena, and yet, hearing their mother speak in such a way—the hope, the surrender, the prayer for their brother's success—left them with a bittersweet ache. They had longed to be the ones to claim Draupadi, but now, their mother's words shook something profound within them. Could they genuinely share her heart?

Sahadeva, his mind racing, was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is that man truly our Jyeshta, Niyati?"

Niyati turned her face away slightly, her gaze distant, as if searching for something only she could see. She nodded, her silent affirmation falling like a weight on the brothers' hearts.

The realization hit them like a thunderclap, and their emotions mixed with reverence, sorrow, and pride. Arjuna, ever the protector and warrior, spoke first. His voice was filled with a raw intensity that betrayed his inner turmoil.

"We will go to the Swayamvar to witness our brother's greatness," he said, his words carrying pride and longing. "He is the one who possesses wisdom and strength. He can fight with any weapon. He can win, and perhaps he is the right one for Rajkumari Krishnaa."

The other brothers nodded solemnly, their minds conflicted. Though they had always known that Vasusena was destined for greatness, the truth now lay heavy in their hearts.

Meanwhile, Niyati sat quietly, her heart attuned to Kunti's prayer to Narayan. Kunti's words—her unspoken hopes and desires—reached the divine realms, carrying with them the weight of a mother's love and sacrifice. Unbeknownst to the others, those words would bear fruit in the coming moments. For Narayan, ever-present heard her prayer and granted it.

Draupadi, the epitome of purity and wisdom, would be the Queen, Kunti desires. She would become the Queen—not just of the kingdom but of a new, unified life with him at her side.

And so, with the dawning of the next day, as the Swayamvar awaited, the five Pandavas stood at the crossroads of destiny, torn between their own hearts and the unspoken future that beckoned ever so close.