Krishna, the friend of the Pandavas, also met with an untimely end after another fratricidal civil war in his own country, and his capital city of Dwarka—from which the remaining inhabitants had been removed by Arjuna to Hastinapur—was overwhelmed by a wave of the sea.
After the many trials and sorrows they had gone through, a weariness of life, such as would seem only too natural under the circumstances, took possession of the Pandavas, and they were minded to be done with earthly things.
“Let us go forth to die! Time slayeth all.
We will find Death who seeketh other men.”
—Sir Edwin Arnold.
With this resolve the five brothers adopted the hermit’s garb, and accompanied by the still peerless Draupadi, and attended by one faithful dog, they turned their steps towards Mount Meru—the abode of the gods. A long, circuitous and weary journey was theirs, performed on foot, and in decorous Indian file. The brothers walked one behind the other according to their respective ages. Draupadi, “with soft dark face and lustrous eyes,” dutifully followed her husbands with unwavering devotion. The dog brought up the rear. Through hoary forests, by running streams, along the shores of the sounding ocean, over parched and burning plains lay their toilsome way to the sacred mountain. But alas! the king alone was destined to reach it alive. One by one the tired pilgrims succumbed to inevitable death. First Draupadi fainted and perished on the way, because—her only fault—her woman’s heart had loved Arjuna too much. After her Sahadeva paid the penalty of pride, and Nakula of self-love. The three who still survived hastened on without looking back, for they knew that their loved companions were beyond the reach of any help. The king with Bhima and Arjuna pressed on for Meru. But the great archer’s turn to die soon arrived, and the giant Bhima perished also. Of all the pilgrims who, weary of the world, had set out from Hastinapur, King Yudhisthira alone, with the hound closely following him, reached the Celestial Mountain and was warmly welcomed by the gods.
With the gates of Swarga wide open for his reception the magnanimous king paused upon the very threshold of Paradise and, more mindful of others than of himself, asked that his brothers and Draupadi should accompany him into heaven. Being assured that he would meet them there, his next solicitude was for his canine companion. At the gate he was informed that the hound must be left outside to the fate that might await him, for such could certainly not enter the abode of the gods. The large-hearted king, however, would not consent to abandon even this humble comrade of his weary pilgrimage, and lo!
“Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled,
Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there,
The lord of death and justice, Dharma’s self.”
—Arnold.
In Swarga Yudhisthira did not find his noble brothers, nor the tender Draupadi, and learned that they were still in Purgatory expiating the sins of their earthly lives. Without them heaven had no charms for the king. He preferred to share the unhappy fate of his kinsfolk, and was conducted to the nether regions by a celestial messenger, along a dismal road reeking with loathsome corruption, and through hideous scenes of terrible suffering, such as have filled the morbid imaginations of men in every nation.
Yudhisthira’s presence in those abodes of anguish brought some mitigation to the punishments of the many who were there undergoing a fierce purgation from the dross of their mundane existence. Wailing voices entreated the great king to stay awhile for their comfort amongst them, and he magnanimously consented to do so. But the gods, at length interposing, conducted him back to Swarga. With him were his brothers and Draupadi—all purified by punishment from such sins or frailties as had marred their perfection during their terrestrial life.