novelraw Arc 6 - Jatugriha - Chapter 2 - The House of Lac: Plot and Deliverance
Arc 6 - Jatugriha - Chapter 2 - The House of Lac: Plot and Deliverance
Vaiśampāyana said:
Meanwhile, the Pāṇḍavas, having completed their preparations, yoked swift-footed horses to their chariots—steeds as fleet as the wind that races across the northern plains. The time of departure had come.
Before stepping into their chariots, they moved with reverent hearts through the palace halls. One by one, they touched the feet of Bhīṣma, unshaken like the Himālaya; of King Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the blind sovereign; of Droṇa, their preceptor in arms; of Kṛpa, wise in ancient lore; and of Vidura, their silent protector. They saluted all the elders of the Kuru race with sorrowful grace.
They embraced their equals in rank,
Received the farewells of the children,
And bowed before the venerable women of the royal household.
With solemn steps they circled each one in respectful pradakṣiṇa,
Then mounted their chariots.
Thus, ever mindful of duty and vow, the sons of Pāṇḍu set forth for Vāraṇāvata.
The citizens of Hastināpura, gripped by sorrow, followed them for some distance. Vidura, of great wisdom, and other noble Kuru elders also accompanied them, their hearts heavy with silent grief.
But among the people, their grief burst forth in words:
“Alas! The king is blind not only in sight, but in virtue!
He sees not the injustice that stains his throne.
Yudhiṣṭhira, ever righteous; Bhīma, mightiest of men;
Arjuna, peerless among archers; the twin sons of Madri—
None of them have rebelled or broken dharma.
Yet they are sent away as exiles, while their rightful throne is claimed by others.
Did not Pandu and Vichitravīrya once cherish us like fathers?
But now that Pandu, tiger among men, ascends no more from heaven,
Dhṛtarāṣṭra, gripped by envy, drives his nephews away.
And what of Bhīṣma? Why does he endure this injustice in silence?
We will not endure this wrong.
Where Yudhiṣṭhira goes, there shall we go.
We shall leave behind this city of Kuru and dwell with him!”
Hearing their lament, Yudhiṣṭhira, though stricken with sorrow, paused and spoke with calm reflection:
“The king is our father, our superior, our spiritual guide.
It is our duty to obey his bidding without suspicion or anger.
You, dear friends, are our well-wishers.
Return to your homes now; your blessings strengthen us.
If the time comes when you may aid us truly,
Then let your hands act for our good.”
Thus spoken, the citizens circled the Pāṇḍavas with reverence,
Offered their blessings with folded palms,
And with heavy hearts, returned to Hastināpura.
And the sons of Pāṇḍu, bound by dharma, rode on toward Vāraṇāvata—
Into a city of festivity, whose walls concealed their enemies’ flame.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the citizens had ceased their grieving and returned to Hastināpura, Vidura, who was learned in every art of dharma and diplomacy, drew near to Yudhiṣṭhira, desiring to awaken him to the peril that lay ahead.
But Vidura, cautious of listening ears, spoke not in the language of the court, but in the obscure tongue of the mlecchas—a speech known to both him and Yudhiṣṭhira alone.
Softly, with eyes steady and voice low, he said:
“He who knows the plots of his foes,
Conceived by the laws of statecraft,
And who understands how to counter them,
Shall never fall into their snares.
There are sharp weapons which pierce though they are not of steel—
The wise man learns to defend himself against them.
The creature that consumes straw and wood burns not those
Hidden deep in the burrow of the forest.
The blind man knows not his path,
Nor the direction of safety.
He who lacks firmness is stripped of prosperity.
Therefore, O Prince, be vigilant.
When one’s enemies give him a shelter that is not of steel but of flame,
Let him build for himself a refuge like the dwelling of the jackal—
With many exits and hidden ways.
The man who wanders learns the paths;
He who reads the stars knows his direction.
And he who governs his five senses
Cannot be defeated by his enemies.”
Thus Vidura spoke, wrapping wisdom in metaphor,
Like a rishi casting seeds beneath a sacred tree.
Yudhiṣṭhira, perceiving his meaning with full clarity, answered only:
“I have understood.”
Then Vidura, having delivered his counsel,
Circled the Pandavas in silent blessing,
And returned to Hastināpura with heavy heart.
When Vidura and the citizens had departed, Kuntī approached her son, her voice quiet but curious:
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“O son, I heard Vidura speak softly to you—
Words that none could discern.
And you replied in kind.
If it is not improper, tell us what was spoken.”
Yudhiṣṭhira answered gently:
“Mother, Vidura spoke to warn me:
The house prepared for us in Vāraṇāvata is built of flammable things.
But he also assured me that a path of escape shall not remain unknown.
And he said: ‘Those who master their senses may win the sovereignty of the world.’
I replied to him: ‘I have understood.’”
Thus, the warning was received,
And the Pandavas stepped forward—aware but unspeaking—
Into the house that was built as their funeral pyre.
And so, O King, on the eighth day of the bright fortnight of Phālguna,
Under the ascendance of Rohiṇī,
The sons of Pāṇḍu entered Vāraṇāvata and beheld its streets adorned for the great festival.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the people of Vāraṇāvata heard that the sons of Pāṇḍu had arrived, joy surged through the town like the rising flood of the Gaṅgā. Thousands came forth in their splendid chariots, carts, and palanquins, bearing auspicious articles, garlands, and gifts, as prescribed by sacred śāstras, to welcome the princes.
Gathering around them, the people cried aloud:
“Jaya! Jaya! Victory to the sons of Kuntī!”
And in that sea of glad voices, Yudhiṣṭhira, radiant with calm virtue, stood like Indra—wielder of the thunderbolt—surrounded by the devas in heaven’s court.
The citizens offered homage,
And the Pandavas returned it with graceful humility.
Thus, amidst mutual honour, they entered the decorated city of Vāraṇāvata, adorned with pennants, fragrant with sandalwood, and alive with the music of celebration.
First, they visited the homes of the venerable Brāhmaṇas, who dwelt in their righteous duties. Thereafter, they visited the homes of the city’s officers, the Sūtas and Vaiśyas, and even the Śūdras—greeting all with kindness.
At last, accompanied by Purocana, they reached the grand mansion built for them.
Purocana, hiding his wicked purpose beneath smiles, laid before them offerings of fine food, rich wines, soft beds, and luxurious carpets — all of the finest make, fit for royal guests.
Attired in resplendent garments,
The Pandavas resided there,
Revered by the people of Vāraṇāvata,
And constantly attended by Purocana,
Who watched them with false devotion.
Thus, for ten nights, the sons of Pāṇḍu lived in comfort.
Then Purocana, as planned, spoke of another mansion—one he called “The Blessed Home”, though in truth it was cursed, designed for their destruction.
At his urging, the Pandavas entered that new palace, its outer splendor concealing its dreadful secret. Like the silent Guhyakas who enter Śiva’s crystal palace upon Mount Kailāsa, the Pandavas entered that house—though they knew the peril that awaited.
Once within, Yudhiṣṭhira, ever watchful, moved carefully through its chambers. Drawing in the heavy scent upon the air, he spoke to Bhīma in solemn tone:
“O chastiser of foes, this house betrays its nature.
The walls breathe the sharp scent of ghee, fat, and lacquer.
Hemp, resin, dry reeds, straw, and bamboo lie hidden beneath its beauty,
All soaked in clarified butter.
This house is no refuge—it is a pyre built with skillful treachery.
Purocana, the wretched, under Duryodhana’s order, remains here,
Waiting to burn us alive once he sees us at ease.
But Vidura, wise among men, saw this danger before it took form.
In his veiled speech he warned me of this house of death.
Our uncle’s love is deep and watchful—
He knows the secret plot of these enemies working in silence.”
Thus spoke Yudhiṣṭhira, the embodiment of calm wisdom—
Ever alert beneath his surface of peace,
Holding fast to dharma even while standing at the brink of treachery.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing Yudhiṣṭhira’s words, Bhīma, fierce in strength but simple in heart, responded at once:
“If you know, brother, that this house is built for our death,
Then let us return to the first quarters where we lodged.
Why stay here amid these hidden flames?”
But Yudhiṣṭhira, ever calm in adversity, replied with steady voice:
“No, Bhīma. It is better that we remain here,
Dwelling outwardly in trust, but inwardly vigilant.
If Purocana senses our suspicion,
He may act suddenly and burn us without delay.
The wretch cares not for sin, nor for blame.
He is but a tool in Duryodhana’s hand,
Who, burning for power, cares little for righteousness.
Should we be slain, will Grandfather Bhīṣma avenge us?
Even if wrath stirs his heart, will he, for our sake,
Invite greater wrath from the Kauravas?
Perhaps, seeing such sin, he may grieve but remain silent.
Or perhaps, in his own struggle between duty and affection,
He may act in ways we cannot foresee.
But if we flee now in open fear,
Duryodhana will pursue us more ruthlessly still.
We are weak—without rank, without wealth, without allies.
But he commands power, wealth, and spies who walk unseen.
If we run, we fall into his hands.
Therefore, let us wear a cloak of innocence,
Let us live here with smiling faces, while inwardly watchful.
Let us move freely, go hunting in the forests,
That we may learn the paths and secret ways of escape.
This very night, we shall have a tunnel dug beneath our chamber.
Let none know of it—not Purocana, not even the people of Vāraṇāvata.
Thus, if fire comes, we shall have a hidden path to life.
Deception shall match deception, and our dharma shall preserve us.”
Thus spoke Yudhiṣṭhira, his mind steady as the Himālaya,
His voice calm like the sacred Gaṅgā,
Planning survival beneath the eye of treachery.
Vaiśampāyana said:
In the silence of the night, a trusted friend of Vidura, skilled in the hidden art of mining, came secretly to the Pāṇḍavas. Approaching them unseen, he spoke in a low voice:
“O sons of Pāṇḍu, I am sent by Vidura, who guards you from afar.
Skilled am I in the art of digging secret paths beneath the earth.
Vidura, knowing your danger, bids me serve you in all ways.
He told me:
‘Go unto the Pāṇḍavas and accomplish their deliverance.’
Purocana, wicked tool of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son,
Plans to ignite this house on the fourteenth night of this dark fortnight.
He will set fire to the doorway and burn you in your sleep.
But Vidura warned you in secret tongue; and you answered.
I reveal this as the sign of my truth.”
Hearing these words, Yudhiṣṭhira, calm and discerning, replied:
“O noble friend, I recognize thee now as Vidura’s own,
Loyal and trusted, sharing his wisdom and our cause.
As thou art dear to him, so art thou dear to us.
Protect us, even as Vidura shields us with unseen hands.
This house, soaked in ghee, resin, and lac,
Was built by Purocana under Duryodhana’s command,
As a snare to consume us in flame.
This arsenal adjoins the mansion—
There is no gate, no outlet to the open earth.
But Vidura, knowing all, foresaw this trap.
The hour now draws near; the danger stands before us.
Save us from this fate, O skillful one,
Before the flames are lit by that wretch who watches at our door.”
The miner bowed and answered:
“So be it.”
At once, in deep secrecy, he began his task.
Quietly he dug the earth beneath their chambers,
Carving a wide subterranean passage,
Its mouth hidden in the very center of the house,
Covered with heavy planks, laid flush with the floor.
So artfully was it concealed that even the ever-watchful Purocana suspected nothing. The Pandavas, during the day, continued to hunt in the forests, learning the ways of the land. By night, they slept with weapons beside them, feigning peace and trust while masking their watchful vigilance.
Thus they lived—
Outwardly content, inwardly alert;
Smiling to Purocana while guarding their lives;
Fooling the people of Vāraṇāvata who knew nothing of the lurking danger.
Of all this, only Vidura’s friend, the noble miner, shared knowledge of their secret. No others knew. The world saw only a princely family enjoying a festival—
But beneath the earth, a path to life was taking shape.
Vaiśampāyana said:
For a full year the Pāṇḍavas lived in the house of lac, outwardly cheerful, inwardly vigilant.
Seeing them so trustful, Purocana grew exceedingly pleased.
Beholding that wretch thus blinded by false confidence, Yudhiṣṭhira spoke quietly to his brothers:
“The cruel-hearted one has been fully deceived.
The time has come to act.
Let us set fire to this deadly house; let Purocana perish in his own trap.
Leaving his charred body behind, we shall escape unseen—six in all.”
Soon after, on the night of an almsgiving, Kuntī hosted a great feast for numerous Brāhmaṇas.
Ladies too came, eating, drinking, and departing with joy after receiving her blessings.
But by the hand of fate, a Niṣāda woman appeared—
Wandering with her five children, hungry and poor.
They too joined the feast, and there, intoxicated with wine and heavy with fatigue,
They fell asleep within the mansion, insensible and unaware.
Their limbs slackened,
Their breath heavy and dull,
They lay like logs beneath the roof of fire.
Then, as night deepened, a fierce wind began to blow.
Bhīma, mighty as Yama himself, arose.
He kindled flames at the door where Purocana lay sleeping.
Then, moving swiftly, he set fire to several parts of the house, surrounding it with tongues of flame.
The house of lac, soaked in resin, ghee, and fat, burst into a roaring inferno.
When the Pandavas saw the mansion fully engulfed,
They, along with Kuntī, entered the secret passage with haste,
Descending into the earth, swallowed by the tunnel that the miner had dug.
The flames leapt upward,
The roof crackled, the walls collapsed.
Roaring like wild beasts, the fire devoured its own master.
The city of Vāraṇāvata awoke in terror.
The citizens rushed out, gazing helplessly at the towering blaze.
Crying out in sorrow, they lamented:
“Alas! Purocana, wicked in soul,
Who built this house under Duryodhana’s command,
Has brought ruin upon himself and the innocent sons of Pāṇḍu!
Fie upon Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s heart—
Partial and cruel—
For allowing the heirs of Pāṇḍu to perish thus,
As if he were their enemy.”
Amidst these laments, the flames consumed all:
Purocana’s charred body,
The innocent Niṣāda woman and her children,
And the mansion that had been crafted for deceit.
But the Pāṇḍavas, guided by Vidura’s wisdom and sheltered by fate,
Had already passed beneath the earth,
Hidden from the eyes of men,
Alive—untouched by flame, untouched by death.
Thus they bewailed, surrounding the burning house through the night, their hearts heavy with grief and horror.
But unknown to all, the Pāṇḍavas, with Kuntī, had already slipped through the subterranean passage. Emerging into the dark forest, they fled with silent haste.
Yet, weighed down by exhaustion and fear, Kuntī and her sons struggled to move swiftly. The blackness of the night wrapped the forest like a shroud.
Then Bhīma, Vṛkodara, son of the wind, revealed his immeasurable might.
He lifted his family upon his own body:
Placing Kuntī upon his broad shoulders,
The twins Nakula and Sahadeva on his sides,
Yudhiṣṭhira upon one arm, Arjuna upon the other.
With the speed of the wind he surged forward,
Crushing trees beneath his powerful chest,
Treading deep into the earth with every step.
Like a furious elephant breaking through dense reeds,
He carried them all, as Garuḍa bears away the serpents.
Thus did Bhīma, peerless in strength, drive forward into the dark woods,
Bearing his family toward safety,
While behind them, the city mourned,
Blind to their deliverance,
Blind to the hand of fate that still guarded the sons of Pāṇḍu.