The city of Virata, capital of the Matsya kingdom, was a world away from the grim silence of the forest. It was a bustling, prosperous city, its lifeblood the vast herds of cattle that grazed on the surrounding plains. Its people were content, its markets were full, and its king, though aging, was known to be a man of honor. It was into this sea of ordinary life that five kings and their empress now plunged, their goal not to be seen, but to dissolve, to become invisible in plain sight.
Yudhishthira was the first to enter. He walked through the main gates not as an emperor, but as a Brahmin whose fortunes had turned. He had smeared his body with dust, and his royal bearing was carefully hidden beneath a veneer of scholarly humility. He walked directly to the royal court and sought an audience with the king.
King Virata, an old, portly man with kind eyes and a weary expression, looked at the strange Brahmin before him. The man was dressed as a pauper, yet his gaze was direct and intelligent, and he carried himself with an innate, unshakable dignity. "Who are you, O Brahmin?" Virata asked. "And what brings you to my court?"
Yudhishthira bowed, the gesture perfectly executed. "Great King, my name is Kanka. I am a Brahmin who has fallen on hard times. I was once a favored courtier and intimate companion to the great Emperor Yudhishthira of Indraprastha." At the mention of his own name, a flicker of profound, ironic pain crossed his face, which he masterfully disguised as the sorrow of a loyal servant mourning his lost master. "Since the tragic ruin of my lord in a game of dice, I have been a wanderer. I am a master of the Vedas, of statecraft, and of all the subtle laws of Dharma. But my greatest skill, a gift and a curse, is my mastery of the game of dice. I have heard of your virtue, O King, and I seek service in your court. I can be your companion, your advisor, and your partner in the game, a pastime to while away the hours of a king."
Virata was intrigued. To have a man who had served the legendary Yudhishthira in his court was a matter of great prestige. And this Kanka spoke with a wisdom and clarity that was immediately apparent. "You are most welcome, Kanka," the king declared. "A man of your learning and experience is an asset to any kingdom. You shall be my trusted courtier and my companion. You will have chambers in the palace and a place of honor at my side. Your search for a home is over."
And so, the Emperor of the World became a courtier, his first task to set up a gaming board for the king's amusement. He had walked into the lion's den and, using his greatest weakness as his shield, had found his place in its very heart.
A few days later, a man of gigantic proportions, his muscles rippling under his simple cloth tunic, strode into the city. He walked with the lumbering gait of a bull, and the citizens of Virata stared in awe at his sheer size and power. It was Bhima, in the guise of the cook, Ballava. He went directly to the palace and announced that he was a master chef seeking employment.
King Virata, hearing of the giant cook, summoned him. "They tell me you are a cook," Virata said, looking the man up and down with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "You look more like a wrestler who could fell an elephant."
Bhima bowed, a gesture that seemed comically humble for his massive frame. "I am both, great King," he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant. "My name is Ballava. I was the chief cook in the kitchens of Emperor Yudhishthira, and I am renowned for my ability to prepare feasts of a hundred different dishes. But it is true, I also enjoy wrestling. In my spare time at Indraprastha, I would often fight lions and tigers for sport, to keep my strength up."
To prove his point, he gestured to a famously savage royal wrestler named Jimuta who was standing nearby. "If it pleases you, my King, I will fight any champion you have, right here, right now."
The king, his curiosity piqued, agreed. The court moved to the wrestling grounds. The fight was over in an instant. Bhima toyed with the champion, then lifted him effortlessly, swung him around his head, and threw him to the ground with such force that the man was knocked unconscious. The court gasped. Virata roared with laughter and delight.
"A cook and a champion!" he cried. "Excellent! Ballava, you are hired! You shall be the master of my kitchens. I have never had a cook who could also protect the palace!"
Bhima, the son of the Wind God, the man who had torn Jarasandha in two, bowed his head in thanks and was led away to the royal kitchens, his new kingdom of pots, pans, and fire.
The arrival of the next servant was perhaps the most shocking of all. A figure of strange, ambiguous beauty entered the city. Tall and graceful, with long, black hair braided like a woman's, adorned with large earrings and ivory bracelets, yet with the broad shoulders and powerful stride of a man. It was Arjuna, his celestial curse now manifest. He was Brihannala.
He went directly to the royal harem, the antahpura, and sought an audience with the queen. Queen Sudeshna, a beautiful but proud and suspicious woman, looked at this strange, third-gender person with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
"Who are you, and what do you want in the women's quarters?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Arjuna, now Brihannala, bowed with a fluid grace that was utterly convincing. His voice, when he spoke, was a soft, melodic tenor, neither male nor female. "Gracious Queen, my name is Brihannala. I am a master of the arts of singing, dancing, and playing all musical instruments. I was the tutor to the royal ladies in the palace of Indraprastha. Having lost my patrons, I now seek service. I have heard of the beauty and talent of your daughter, the Princess Uttara, and I wish to offer my services as her teacher."
Sudeshna was skeptical. This person was too beautiful, too graceful. "I cannot simply allow a stranger into the harem," she said. "How do I know you are what you say you are? You seem strong and capable. I fear you may be a man in disguise."
Brihannala let out a soft, tinkling laugh. "Great Queen, my condition is a matter of fate, not of choice. I am, as you see me, unfit for the company of men. As for my skills, I ask only for a chance to prove them. Bring me a vina, a drum. Let me sing for you. Let me dance. Then you shall be the judge."
The queen, her curiosity getting the better of her, agreed. Brihannala was given a vina, and the moment his fingers touched the strings, a melody of such divine, heartbreaking beauty filled the room that the queen and her handmaidens were moved to tears. He then danced, his movements a perfect fusion of masculine power and feminine grace, a story of gods and heroes told through the poetry of his body.
The queen was utterly convinced and enchanted. "Forgive my suspicion," she said, her tone now warm and respectful. "Your talent is a gift from the gods. You shall be the royal tutor. My daughter, Uttara, and all the ladies of the court will be your students."
And so, Arjuna, the wielder of the Gandiva, the man who had battled Shiva and destroyed the armies of the Asuras, took up his new residence in the harem, his new weapons the ankle bells of a dancer and the strings of a lute.
The arrival of the final three was less dramatic, but no less effective. Nakula, in the guise of Granthika, went to the royal stables. He simply walked among the king's prized war horses, his presence having an instantly calming effect on the spirited animals. He pointed out a dozen subtle flaws in their care—an improperly fitted saddle here, a sign of a hidden ailment there. His knowledge was so profound, so innate, that the master of the stables immediately took him to the king. Virata, a great lover of horses, was so impressed by Granthika's expertise that he immediately made him the new superintendent of the entire royal cavalry.
Sahadeva, as the cowherd Tantripala, did the same with the king's vast herds of cattle. He could tell the lineage of a bull by the shape of its horns, predict the milk yield of a cow by the look in its eyes, and cure any bovine ailment with his knowledge of herbs. He was a prodigy, a walking encyclopedia of animal husbandry. He was quickly given charge of the kingdom's greatest source of wealth.
Finally, it was Draupadi's turn. This was the most dangerous infiltration of all. She entered the palace not as a queen, but as a Sairandhri, a high-class lady's maid, seeking service. She was brought before Queen Sudeshna.
The queen gasped when she saw her. Draupadi's beauty, even unadorned and shadowed by years of hardship, was still a thing of divine, fiery power. It was a beauty that was dangerous. Sudeshna was immediately filled with a deep, consuming jealousy and suspicion.
"Who are you?" the queen demanded, her voice cold. "No mere servant possesses such beauty. You look like a goddess, or a queen yourself. I cannot have such a woman in my palace. My husband, the king, would lose his senses. Every man in the court would be consumed by desire for you. You would bring chaos and ruin to my household."
Draupadi bowed her head, her heart pounding, but her voice remained steady. "My name is Malini, great Queen. It is true that my life has been one of sorrow. I was once the companion to the Empress Draupadi of Indraprastha." She paused, letting the prestigious name work its magic. "As for my beauty, it has been more of a curse than a blessing."
She then deployed the brilliant lie she and her husbands had concocted. "I am protected," she said, her voice low and mysterious. "I am the wife of five powerful Gandharvas, celestial beings of great might. They are my husbands, but they are intensely jealous. They allow me to live in the world of mortals, but they have sworn a terrible oath: any man who looks upon me with lust, or who tries to treat me as a common servant, will be struck down by them and die a terrible, immediate death. That is why I seek refuge here, in the safety of the queen's own chambers, where I will be protected from the eyes of other men."
She then stated her conditions. "My Gandharva husbands have also decreed that I cannot perform tasks of a lowly nature. I will not eat leftovers from another's plate, nor will I wash another's feet. But I can weave garlands of flowers, prepare fragrant pastes, and dress your hair with a skill that will be the envy of all other queens. I ask only for your protection, and I promise you my loyal service."
Queen Sudeshna was caught. On one hand, she was deeply suspicious and jealous. On the other, the story of the Gandharva husbands was both terrifying and intriguing. And the prospect of having a servant who had once served the famous Draupadi was a great status symbol. The conditions were unusual, but they also meant this strange, beautiful woman would be no ordinary servant.
"Very well, Malini," the queen said finally, her curiosity and pride winning out over her fear. "You may stay. But you will remain here, in my chambers. And I pray for the sake of the men in this court that your tale of celestial husbands is true."
The final piece was in place. The six exiles were now embedded in the very heart of the Matsya kingdom. Yudhishthira, the courtier. Bhima, the cook. Arjuna, the dance teacher. Nakula, the horse master. Sahadeva, the cattle chief. And Draupadi, the queen's companion. They were servants, living under the same roof, yet they were strangers. They would pass each other in the palace corridors, their eyes meeting for a fleeting, painful second, but they could not speak, could not acknowledge their shared past or their shared purpose. They were a family atomized, their bonds of love and loyalty now a secret they had to guard with their very lives. The final, terrible year had begun.