Fifteen idyllic years passed in the forest of Satasringa. The sons of Pandu grew swiftly and their bril- liance with them. They hunted in those wilds, swam and fished in the rivers. They learnt the ways of the jungle-folk and about the deep motions of the stars in the sky. They studied the Vedas and the other Shastras from erudite rishis in the asramas. But one day, fate seemed to decide that the idyll had lasted long enough.
Yudhishtira was fifteen winters old, when spring arrived once more with a burst of flowers on the trees. Bird-song trilled from countless vivid throats and heady scents wafted through the airy passages of the forest. After the long cold, the season of love had arrived again: mating time. The wild crea- tures were all in rut. Serpents came out of their holes and entwined. Elephant and mountain-goat, panther and wolf, the eagle on his eyrie and the smaller birds in the lower reaches of the hills, butter- flies in the air, fish in the frothy brooks and insects under mossy stones were all at love.
One morning, Kunti had taken the five young Pandavas to a nearby asrama. Pandu was alone that day; he had not seen Madri either. He decided to take a stroll in the scented woods and pluck some lotuses for his wives from the pools that brimmed with startling blooms. Humming to himself, he walked along the familiar cedar aisles. The air was crisp and clear, the spring morning perfect and, it seemed to that hermit prince, alive with a mystic loveliness. He strolled through the woods and arrived in a clearing where a stream flowed, from which they drew their drinking water and bathed in its sparkling currents.
Walking into that clearing, Pandu saw Madri at a bend in the stream. He stood still behind a large cedar and his senses throbbed with a fever he thought he had long since known the last of; which is why it took him so unawares. That morning, Pandu saw something he had not seen for eighteen years: a naked woman. Madri had just put away her clothes on a smooth stone beside the jungle stream. She stood for a moment, testing the water with her foot before she waded into it. The sight of her body, filled out lushly with the years, touched Pandu like wildfire.
He stood transfixed, his mind reeling at seeing her like that after so long. Suddenly, it did not mat- ter to Pandu whether he lived or died. The sight of naked Madri as she waded into the stream, the sight of her hips and breasts, her long, smooth arms and, most of all, the darkness that nestled between her fair thighs was more than he could bear. It was more than he could tear himself away from and run from that place as if death was after him.
He saw her as a young man sees his first naked woman and all that mattered was to possess this dream at once. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he darted from one tree to another, his eyes never leav- ing the woman as she bathed in the warm water. Until, he stood behind a pine not five feet from the stone on which her clothes lay.
She finished bathing. When she came out and began to dry herself, he gave a strangled cry and darted out from hiding. At first she also cried out. But when she saw it was he, she smiled. She was full of languor from her bath and pleased that he had been watching her. Then she saw the state he was in and grew afraid.
"My lord, you mustn't. The curse!"
Without a word, breathing hard, he seized her in arms that were still so powerful and forced her down on the soft grass. She flailed about to get free. But he was too strong and then she herself was swept away by his urgency. Realizing that protest would be of no use, she prayed that after so many years the rishi's curse might not be potent. She shut her eyes and, with a moan, clasped him to her. He bared himself in a flash, thrust himself into her like fire and began to move on her convulsively, crying aloud in release.
But even as ecstasy swept over him and Madri found her sharp joy, that pale prince was borne right out of his body. As if he could not bear the intensity of what he felt, clutching his wife, Pandu went limp in her arms. She lay briefly in her own swoon. But when she tried to move him off her, where he lay heavy and inert, Madri saw that her husband was dead.
Kunti was on her way back home with the boys. Hearing Madri's screams they ran toward the stream. Cradling Pandu in her arms, Madri heard them calling anxiously to her from across the water. Quickly covering her nakedness, she cried, "Kunti, leave the children and come alone!"
