The divine sanction of Vyasa transformed the court of Kampilya. The crisis of Dharma dissolved, replaced by a sense of profound, mystical purpose. King Drupada, his worldly anger humbled by cosmic revelation, threw himself into the wedding preparations with the zeal of a man participating in a great cosmic rite. The news that the five mysterious Brahmins were, in fact, the five legendary Pandava princes, alive and well, sent a shockwave of elation through the city. The people of Panchala rejoiced; their fire-born princess was not marrying a poor Brahmin, but the heroes of the age, and their kingdom was now allied with the very men who had once defeated them, forging an unbreakable bond of power.
The wedding that followed was an event unlike any the world had ever seen. It was a ceremony steeped in ancient ritual and divine exception, designed to consecrate a union that defied all mortal tradition. It spanned five days. On each day, Draupadi, adorned as a new bride, would take the hand of one brother before the sacred fire, the Agni from which she herself was born.
It began with Yudhishthira. As the eldest, the embodiment of Dharma, his union with her was the foundation upon which the others would be built. The rites were performed, the vows exchanged, and he became her husband. The next morning, a miracle, pre-ordained by the boon of Lord Shiva, occurred. Draupadi, after consummating her marriage, bathed and approached the sacred fire once more. As she stepped from her chambers, she was a virgin again, her body and spirit ritually purified, ready to become the bride of the next brother. This divine boon was the key, the cosmic loophole that made the impossible possible, preserving the ritual sanctity of each individual union while weaving them into a single, unprecedented whole.
On the second day, she wed the mighty Bhima, his raw power a stark contrast to Yudhishthira's serene righteousness. On the third day, she was joined with Arjuna, the hero who had won her hand, their union charged with the memory of the impossible shot and the garland of victory. On the fourth and fifth days, she married the handsome twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, completing the five-fold knot. Each day, the city celebrated. Each day, the world of men gossiped and wondered at this strange and unheard-of marriage. But within the court of Panchala, it was understood as a sacred, divine act. Draupadi was not just a wife; she was the Empress, the Samragni, the sacred center that bound the five divine parts of a single soul together.
With the five ceremonies complete and the alliance sealed, just as the new family was settling into their new reality, another celestial visitor arrived. It was the divine sage Narada, the cosmic musician and traveler, whose appearance often heralded great events and served as a warning against future discord. He appeared in the court, his vina in hand, his eyes holding the wisdom of one who travels freely between the worlds of gods and men.
After receiving the proper honours, Narada addressed the five brothers, his expression both congratulatory and grave. "You have embarked upon a path sanctioned by the gods," he began, his voice melodic. "But a path so unique is fraught with unique dangers. The bond between brothers is the strongest on earth, but the love for a woman can be a force powerful enough to shatter it. History is replete with such tales."
To illustrate his point, he told them the ancient story of the Asura brothers, Sunda and Upasunda. "They were inseparable," Narada narrated. "Through immense penance, they gained a boon from Lord Brahma that they could not be killed by any god, demon, or man, except by each other. They became invincible, conquering the three worlds and driving the gods from their heavens. No force could stand against their united might. To defeat them, Brahma summoned the celestial architect, Vishwakarma, and commanded him to create a woman of perfect, irresistible beauty. From the essence of every beautiful thing in creation, he fashioned the Apsara, Tilottama.
"She was sent to the court of the Asura brothers. When they saw her, both were instantly consumed by a lust so powerful it overwhelmed their lifelong bond. Sunda grabbed her right hand and declared, 'She is my wife!' Upasunda grabbed her left hand and roared, 'No, she is mine!' Their love for each other vanished, replaced by an all-consuming jealousy. They drew their weapons and, in a furious battle over the woman, they struck each other down, fulfilling the condition of the boon. A bond that could withstand the armies of the gods was broken by their shared desire for a single woman."
The cautionary tale hung in the air, a chilling premonition. The Pandavas listened, their faces grim. They understood the sage's warning.
"To prevent such a seed of discord from ever taking root among you," Narada decreed, "you must establish a sacred rule, an unbreakable vow. Draupadi will live with each of you, in turn, for a period of one year. During that year, she is the exclusive wife of that brother, and his home is her home. If any other brother should enter the private chamber while she is with another, if he should witness them in their moment of privacy, he must pay a severe penalty. He must immediately depart on a pilgrimage, a twelve-year exile into the forest, to purify himself of the transgression. Do you swear to uphold this rule?"
The five brothers, understanding the profound wisdom of the sage's words, bowed their heads as one. "We swear," they vowed. The rule was set, a safeguard forged by a celestial messenger to protect their divine union from the frailties of mortal emotion. With his warning delivered, Narada blessed them and vanished.
While the Pandavas were forging their new life and their new rules in Kampilya, the whispers of their resurrection had finally reached Hastinapura. The spies sent by Duryodhana returned, their faces ashen, their reports delivered in trembling voices.
They told the court everything. They spoke of a mysterious Brahmin winning the Swayamvara with a feat of impossible archery. They described the fury of the assembled kings and the subsequent battle, where the Brahmin and his four brothers had single-handedly defeated an army. And then they delivered the final, devastating news: the Brahmins were the Pandavas, and they had not only survived the fire but had now forged an unbreakable alliance with the powerful King Drupada by marrying his fire-born daughter. All five of them.
The court of Hastinapura imploded.
Duryodhana let out a howl of pure, animalistic rage. He overturned a great marble table, sending golden goblets crashing to the floor. The joy of the past year, the smug satisfaction of his victory, turned to bile in his throat. His enemies were back. They were not just alive; they were stronger, more celebrated, and more powerful than ever before. His perfect crime had been for nothing.
"They live!" he screamed, his face contorted into a mask of hatred. "And they have allied with Drupada, the one king who despises us! This is a disaster! Father, we must act now! We must raise the army and march on Panchala before they can consolidate their power! We must crush them while we have the chance!"
Shakuni placed a calming hand on his nephew's shoulder, though his own mind was racing, trying to process this catastrophic turn of events. "Patience, my boy, patience," he hissed. "War is not the answer. Not yet. To attack them now would be to admit your guilt in the fire. You would be the aggressor. Bhishma and Drona would never support it." He then smiled his crooked smile. "And this strange marriage… five men to one woman? It is an abomination! It is against Dharma! We can use this. We can paint them as deviants, as sinners. This is not a strength; it is a weakness we can exploit."
Karna sat silently through Duryodhana's tirade, his face carved from stone. Inside, he was a tempest. The Brahmin was Arjuna. He knew it now. The sting of Draupadi's rejection—"I will not wed the son of a charioteer"—burned with a fresh, acidic fire. She had rejected him, a king who had proven his skill, only to be shared among five men, one of whom was the very rival he was born to defeat. His hatred for Arjuna, once a professional rivalry, now became a deeply personal, festering wound. His loyalty to Duryodhana, the one man who had given him dignity when all others had offered scorn, became absolute. The Pandavas were not just his rivals anymore; they were the enemies of his friend, and the source of his deepest humiliation.
Dhritarashtra, on his throne, trembled. The news terrified him. The sons of Pandu, whom he had wronged so grievously, were alive and allied with a powerful enemy. He was consumed by visions of their vengeance. He imagined Bhima's mace crashing through his palace gates, Arjuna's arrows raining down upon his sons. His fear was a physical sickness.
"What is to be done?" he cried out, his voice thin and reedy. "What is to be done?"
It was Vidura who provided the voice of reason, his words a sharp counterpoint to Shakuni's venom. He stood before the king, his face radiating a quiet, righteous joy. "What is to be done, my King?" he said, his voice ringing with clarity. "The answer is simple. You must do what is right! Your nephews, the sons of your noble brother, are alive! This is a cause for celebration, not for war! They have been wronged, they have been driven from their home, and yet fate has rewarded them. Send an envoy to Kampilya at once. Welcome them back with honour. Invite them home. And give them what is rightfully theirs—half the kingdom. It is the only way to avert a catastrophic war that will consume our entire lineage."
Bhishma and Drona, their faces transformed by the relief of knowing their beloved pupils were alive, echoed Vidura's counsel. "Vidura speaks the truth, O King," Bhishma said, his powerful voice cutting through the tension. "Justice must be done. To deny them their birthright now, after all that has happened, would be to declare war not just on the Pandavas and Panchala, but on Dharma itself."
The court was split. On one side stood Duryodhana, Karna, and Shakuni, their voices calling for treachery, political maneuvering, and war. On the other stood Bhishma, Drona, and Vidura, their counsel one of justice, reconciliation, and peace.
At the center of it all sat the blind king, Dhritarashtra. He was paralyzed, torn between his consuming love for his wicked son and his mortal fear of his powerful, wronged nephews. The kingdom of whispers, which had celebrated a false funeral, now had to confront a real and terrifying resurrection. The decision he made now would determine whether the house of Kuru would heal, or whether it would finally shatter into open, bloody war.