The Passing of the Three

Fifteen years passed in peace, and Yudhishthira ruled with justice, and treated the blind Dhritarāshtra and Gāndhārī with the highest tenderness and respect. Yet the old king's heart stayed secretly anchored to his grief; and one day he summoned Yudhishthira and told him that the time had come for him and Gāndhārī to retire to the forest, to wear bark and rags and spend their last days in prayer and penance, as their ancestors had done, and he asked permission to depart.

Yudhishthira was shocked, and fell at his feet, offering to give up the crown himself and follow them to serve them. But Vyāsa came and counselled him to let the old king go, for the dharma of kings is to die in battle or to spend their last days in the forest, and it was right that Dhritarāshtra should depart so. And with a heavy heart Yudhishthira consented.

And the next morning the blind king walked out of Hastināpura, his hand on Gāndhārī's shoulder, and Gāndhārī, who had bound her own eyes out of devotion to him, placed her hand on Kuntī's shoulder to be guided.

And as they walked out of the gates, Yudhishthira realized with horror that his own mother Kuntī meant to go with them into the forest forever, and he wept and pleaded: mother, not this; you blessed us and sent us to battle; it is not right that you should desert us now.

But Kuntī was firm, and turned her tearful eyes upon her eldest son, and gave him her last counsel: remember with love Karṇa, who died a hero; look after Draupadī with tenderness; give no cause for grief to your brothers; I must join my husband Pāṇḍu; may your mind stand ever steady upon dharma. And the three old monarchs walked slowly into the depths of the forest; and within three years they gave up their bodies willingly in a sudden forest fire, sitting in deep meditation, letting their souls merge with the Supreme.

So passed the elder generation, the blind king and his blindfolded queen and the mother of the Pāṇḍavas, out of the world at last, into the peace that the world had denied them; and Kuntī went to rejoin the husband she had lost so long ago, carrying with her to the end the secret sorrow of the son she had abandoned and never openly claimed until it was too late.