“Alright, fine!” The condescension in Duryodhana’s voice made the entire Kuru court squirm in displeasure. But he was King Dhritarashtra’s favourite child. All swallowed the discomfort even as he continued in the same haughty tone.

The Pandavas Get Khandavaprastha

“We will give a little part of the Kuru kingdom to the Pandavas to build their own kingdom. I have decided, with Father’s approval of course, to give them Khandavaprastha.” His eyes twinkled in wicked merriment as he mentioned the name of the area the Pandavas were getting.

A collective gasp followed. Bhishma, Vidura, and Drona had the grace not to meet the five brothers’ eyes as the decision was announced in the Kuru court. They had tried hard to counsel King Dhritarashtra against this.

Bhima exploded, “That barren and hostile piece of land is infested with wild animals. Its name, Khandavaprastha, the land of the jungles, says everything one needs to know about the area. Anyone can hardly make a home there, let alone build a capital.” No one had an answer to Bhima’s justified question. The younger three brothers looked helpless and uncertain. 

Duryodhana exchanged meaningful glances with his brother, Dushasana, mentally congratulating himself on his intelligence.

Civil war avoided, the Pandavas driven away from Hastinapur, the fight for the throne extinguished without a single drop of blood shed! Let Draupadi, the Princess of Panchala, live in the wild squalor of Khandavaprastha.

Yudhishthira stood up, calmed his angry brother, and addressed the Kuru court. “We are grateful to King Dhritarashtra and the Kuru elders for giving us Khandavaprastha. We will work hard to ensure your gift to us is not wasted.”

With these words, and his heart steeled for difficult days ahead, Yudhishthira left the court, followed by his brothers, Bhima still simmering with rage. 

Khandavaprastha is Transformed to Indraprastha

I am transformed, completely, unrecognizably. My dense jungles, filled with lush, green trees, innumerable copses of flowering plants, and wild animals, have all gone. Some died in the fire set by Vishwakarma and his workers to clear the jungles, while some fortunate ones managed to escape to safety. 

Today, a beautiful city stands, replete with palaces, mansions, and roads so wide that 3 to 4 chariots can ride side by side easily. The transformation was stark, and I was overwhelmed, all thanks to the divine architect Vishwakarma. He not only built palaces and roads, but also ensured every drop of water that passed through the land was harnessed to meet the residents’ needs.

Water from everywhere rippled through my land, small drops snaking together, zigzaging through the cracks in rocks, meeting other snaking drops to form little rivulets that, in turn, joined bigger streams and rivers, all headed to the ocean. As they flowed, these waters enriched my land, fertilising it with some of the richest mineral deposits, allowing my new human residents to create emerald carpets of unending fields interspersed with yellow cobs of corn and wheat, all swaying in the gentle breeze, waiting to be harvested.

A mixture of emotions assailed my senses, pride in the fabulous transformation eerily combining with the sadness of what I lost to become this. With a faint sense of guilt, I realised that the sadness of loss dissipated into the pride of transformation.

I was Indraprastha, the city of riches and abundance, the Pandava brothers’ capital. My old self, Khandavaprastha, the land of the forest, was lost in the success story of my present status.

Today was a day of celebration, a day to show off my metamorphosis: from the dark cocoon of dense jungles where sunlight rarely found its way, to the beautiful butterfly of an urban city where the sun happily spread its rays, almost as if it had been waiting for ages to get in through the dense canopies of my hitherto forests. 

I could see well-dressed humans strutting about, replacing the majesty of lions, lionesses, elephants, and tigers; little children walking alongside their parents just as cubs and little ones of four-legged inhabitants did a couple of years ago. Laughter, banging doors, clanging metal, pealing bells, and human voices replaced the chatter, growls, roars, creaking, and rustling of my jungles. I felt like a proud mother to see her child become a beautiful bride. 

“Aah! You look gorgeous, way better than me,” the whispering voice of Hastinapur startled me out of my reverie.

Regaining my composure, I smiled at my partner city and said, “I can never be the magic you are, my dear sister. Your antiquity is sacred. I am like a new bride, beautiful, yes, but brittle and unsure, even as my heart is filled with a portentous foreboding.”

“Well, while I empathise with you, I must remind you (as a wise God once advised me), my dear Khandava…oops…Indraprastha, that you and I are nothing more than mere witnesses and event recorders. Don’t get too attached to anything, lest you get swayed by human emotions. Watch and record! That’s why I’ve come here too, along with Duryodhana and his brothers.”

“It was good of the Pandavas to invite them over and share their happiness, right?” I asked, uncertainty clearly evident in my voice.

My elder sister smiled. “I wish I knew what is right and what is wrong. I’ve realised humans are brilliant at swathing their intentions in multiple, thick layers of pretence and civility. I tried to understand them in my youth. But I couldn’t despite my best attempts. So I gave up and stuck to my job: observing and recording. If you want my advice, avoid overthinking, nay, avoid thinking at all.”

Duryodhana is Mesmerised and Insulted

Both of us followed the Kauravas as they toured my city, then took a special tour of the magnificent Pandavas’ palace, the crown of Indraprastha. 

Duryodhana’s eyes reflected mesmerisation, awe, and utter disgust in turn. He couldn’t believe a place as godforsaken as Khandavaprastha could be transformed into such a brilliant, well-formed city. His jealousy peaked when he realised his innumerable attempts to keep the Pandavas down were not only failing consistently but also that, each time, they rose stronger than before. 

Transforming Khandavaprastha into Indraprastha was the ultimate insult to him. He realised that the backing of Krishna, the King of Dwarka, along with the military and trading power of Panchala, the kingdom of their wife, Draupadi, added to their power.

That accursed Purochana and his failed Lakshagriha in Varanavata! That was, somehow, the turning point in the Pandavas’ lives. I hate myself for unwittingly helping that happen. Damn you, Purochana! I am sure now the Pandavas made sure you died along with those in the infernal flames.

Duryodhana couldn’t process his swirling emotions. He wanted with all his heart to get rid of his cousins permanently. But nothing was working. The desire was tearing him apart. 

“Come, Lord Duryodhana, let us go to the Maya Sabha, the Palace of Illusions, now.” The special tour guide’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and he harrumphed as he followed his brothers behind the guide.

The spectacular palace before his eyes did nothing for his already bruised ego. It was stupendous, running a few thousand meters in width and length. The window frames were made of intricately carved wood, and the gigantic front door, when fully opened, could let in four elephants standing side by side. 

Once he entered it, Duryodhana was lost in its splendid beauty. Every room was magical, to say the least. The furniture simple yet classy. The floors were so well polished they shone like mirrors. 

In one room, the floor was a clear pool of water. Amazed, the young prince lifted his dhoti and gingerly touched the edge, only to realise it was a hard floor, not water at all. Even after realising it was just a floor, Duyodhana felt it move with the wind, like waves in a lake. 

Such brilliant architecture and workmanship!

In another room, the floor looked like a pool too. Not wanting to appear unduly impressed, he walked straight in, only to fall into hip-deep water. He gasped in surprise, losing his breath for an instant due to the shock and the feel of the cool water on his skin.  He quickly tried to get out, but he was soaking; his wet angavastram and dhoti were hugging his body.

As some of the courtiers (all of whom were unsuccessfully trying to suppress their laughter) who were following him rushed to help the prince, he heard peals of laughter from the other end of the room. He looked up and saw Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva in a fit of giggles. Meeting his eyes, they tried to stop their giggles, but in vain. 

Yudhishthira, who came rushing to the spot when he heard of the prince’s fall, hushed his brothers. That only made them laugh even more uproariously. Duryodhana’s heart filled with envious rage.

Indraprastha Fears the Worst

I watched in horror at the scene that unfolded. It was the beginning of the end! I knew it in my heart. Years of hatred and envy had congealed into an incurable malignancy in his heart, waiting to unleash its fury on the Pandavas and Draupadi. Hastinapur stood rooted beside me in anxious fear, too. She knew it as much as I did. 

His loathing for his cousins shone like a black light covering my entire city in its darkness. Disaster was waiting to happen, and I, ineffable Indraprastha, could do nothing but wait and watch. 

Authors’ Note:

Popular tales speak of Draupadi laughing at Duryodhana when he falls into the pool. However, in the original version, BORI critical version, she is not even present there. It is the four brothers who laugh. And Yudhishthira tries hard to make up for their mockery by helping Duryodhana. Pictures created using ChatGPT

This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with Ratna Prabha.

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