Two hours before dawn, the palace burned down completely. Only embers remained, glowing in the night like thousands of fiery eyes. The place was still too hot for anyone to look for bodies and the people of Varanasi decided to return to their homes. They would come out the next morning, when the embers had died and they could begin a search of the gutted building.
All night, the miner had mingled with the crowd. He was a little worried lest the opening into the tunnel was exposed by the fire. Now, when the crowd dispersed, he stayed back. Wrapping himself in a blanket he had brought, he stole among the ruins of the palace. The heat singed him, but he was determined to level the mouth of the tunnel. The closest investigation in the morning should not reveal the secret of the underground passage. He carried a spade in his hand.
The miner knew exactly where the trap door was and made straight for it through the haze of heat. He arrived at the courtyard. A slow smile spread on his face as he scrabbled in the smoking debris with his spade. The roof of the tunnel had caved in, but its entrance had been covered evenly with fallen masonry and burnt timber. It was miraculous: as if the place had been diligently leveled, so no one could ever tell, not the miner himself, where the tunnel-mouth had been.
The miner saw where Purochana, what remained of him, lay on the floor beside his bed, where he must have fallen screaming when tongues of fire licked him awake from his stupor. With small regret, the miner saw the charred remains of the poor nishada woman and her sons. He wondered fleetingly if the Pandavas and their mother would ever pay for that sin. With grim satisfaction, he left the ruins of the lacquer palace. His task was filfilled and he set out for Hastinapura to bring Vidura news of the Pandavas' escape.
Came dawn and the people of Varanasi returned to the house of lac. Only ashes remained of the palatial mansion. These were barely warm, because the morning dew had extinguished any living embers. Now the import of what had happened struck the crowd with full force. The women wept, some beat their breasts. Curling their tongues, the older ones ululated shrilly as was the custom. They knew it was not just five princes and their mother who had perished in the night's fire: it was the future of the Kurus.
The people went through the charred remnants of the palace. Some cried, "Here is the murderer, Duryodhana's man. At least he got what he deserved."
"I hope he died slowly."
"And screaming in pain, with no escape," said one of the women in anger. She was not far from the truth.
They saw the remains of the nishada woman and her sons. The women's wailing grew louder; none of the men was dry-eyed either.
"Let us take news of his success to the blind king," it was decided, "and may his joy be short-lived. May the people's curses darken his destiny and his sons' with sorrow and evil."
The news came to Hastinapura. When the messengers from Varanasi stood before the king, they said coldly, "Kunti and her sons were burnt alive in the palace they lived in."
The king sprang to his feet, almost falling. A howl of anguish tore its way out of him, shaking even the messengers. Dhritarashtra was an actor. His heart was awash with joy, but his blind eyes leaked tears and he staggered as if someone had struck him. Dhritarashtra's grief was like the autumn cloud, which is full of thunder but brings no rain. It was like the tears of the crocodile.
"Ah! Today I feel the grief of my brother Pandu's death again. I must have been a great sinner in my past lives that I have to suffer like this now."
His head bowed, clever sobs shook his powerful frame; it seemed grief had overwhelmed him and he could not speak. Then he appeared to gather courage. "Let my soldiers and our kinsmen fetch the remains of Kuntibhoja's daughter and her valiant sons from Varanasi. Let our coffers be opened and food, clothes and gold be given generously to the poor."
The tragic news spread through the city like the fire of an astra. Later, Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, Bheeshma, Drona and Kripa, Vidura and the elders, the nobility of Hastinapura and the commanders of the army came to the banks of the Ganga to offer tarpana to the souls of the dead. All save Dhritarashtra, his sons and their coterie mourned sincerely. Many wept as if they had lost their own flesh and blood. The nishada woman and her sons had a funeral they could not have dreamt of.
Most stricken was Bheeshma. He cried without pause since he heard the news. He did not speak a word; his heart was truly broken. He was too old to bear such grief any more; he felt death at his elbow. Everyone knew Vidura loved the Pandavas like his own sons. They were all too shocked to notice how controlled he was.
Bheeshma offered tarpana in the river. Then he stood apart from the other mourners, wracked, wondering how he would live through this day. He had braved many deaths: his father's, Chitran- gada's and Vichitraveerya's. Then, Pandu also had died. But this was more than just the sudden death of five princes and their mother; this, Bheeshma knew, would prove to be the end of the Kuru king- dom. There was no hope left in him, as he stood whispering Yudhishtira's name like some mantra. "Yudhishtira, you should not have died. You were to be king."
Vidura appeared at Bheeshma's side. The patriarch sobbed pitifully. Vidura put an arm around him and led him out of earshot of the others. Though he had intended to keep his secret to himself, he now decided to share it with the elder. He was afraid that, otherwise, the old man would die of grief.
Gently Vidura said, "Pitama, give no sign on your face of what I am about to tell you." Bheeshma turned swollen eyes to Vidura. "Pandu's sons did not die in the fire at Varanasi. I arranged for their escape."
Bheeshma began to tremble and Vidura held his arm tightly to remind him that he must give nothing away.
At the river, having committed himself irrevocably to evil, Dhritarashtra was offering a hypocrite's tarpana to his nephews. He wailed loudly and called out the Pandavas' names, as if to call them back from the dead. "Yudhishtira, hope of my old age, why have you abandoned me? Oh, Arjuna, Bheema, Sahadeva, Nakula! Kunti, my sister, what curse has fallen on us? Dear God, have mercy."
Vidura whispered to Bheeshma, "It was my brother, Duryodhana and Shakuni who plotted to kill the Pandavas. They built a lacquer palace and told Purochana to set it on fire."
"Murder! Ah, Dhritarashtra."
"Kunti and her sons are in Siddhavata, the southern jungle across the Ganga. Let them remain hidden for a while. When the time comes they will return and we shall live to see them become lords of the earth. But we must be patient."
Bheeshma squeezed Vidura's hand, "The secret is ours, my heart is at peace. Keep me informed."
Vidura turned to leave him, but Bheeshma drew him back. Embracing him as if in grief, the patri- arch said, "My son, the House of Kuru will always be in your debt."
