The king of Hastinapur, Vichitravirya, died rather prematurely, leaving behind his two wives, Ambika and Ambalika. His mother, Satyavati, suddenly found herself in one hell of a family crisis.
She would have asked Bhishma to step in, had he not been bound by his own vows and circumstances. So instead, she turned to her other son, Vyasa, and asked him to take responsibility for Ambika and Ambalika.
And thus began the next generation.
From Ambika was born Dhritarashtra — blind from birth. From Ambalika came Pandu.
Since Dhritarashtra was born blind, the throne of Hastinapur passed him by. The royal jackpot therefore landed in Pandu’s lap.
Pandu then married Kunti, Krishna’s aunt. Apparently one wife wasn’t enough for royal administration, so he married a second time as well — this time to Madri.
Now Pandu had a serious hunting addiction. The man would see something moving in the bushes and basically think:
“Whatever. Shoot first, identify species later.”
One day, Pandu went hunting in the forest.
Living in that forest was a sage named Kindama. On that particular day, Sage Kindama and his wife had transformed themselves into a stag and a doe and were, shall we say, extremely busy with some very private husband-and-wife business.
Pandu saw the two deer.
And despite seeing exactly what they were doing, he fired his arrows and killed them.
His hunting companions immediately went:
“OH NO, YOUR MAJESTY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
They explained to Pandu that, forget animals and birds — even if you find two cockroaches busy with private business, civilized people generally allow them to finish the meeting before launching pest control.
Now, some readers may not know this, but ancient sages had a terrifying superpower:
When angry, they could issue curses with absolutely no customer-service department available for appeals.
Before dying, Sage Kindama cursed Pandu:
“You saw perfectly well that I was GETTING SOME, and you still shot me?! Fine! Here’s a premium-grade curse for you: from today onward, the moment you try to have sex with either of your wives — YOU DIE!”
Upon hearing this, Pandu fainted.
Four times.
After regaining consciousness for approximately the fourth time, he desperately begged the sage:
“Please! Take the curse back! Choose another punishment! Fine me! Ban me from hunting! Suspend my royal license! Anything!”
The sage replied:
“Sorry. A curse is like money sent through mobile recharge. Once it’s gone through, it’s gone. No refunds.”
Pandu returned from the forest to Hastinapur looking like a man whose entire operating system had crashed.
Kunti and Madri asked:
“What happened to you?!”
Pandu explained the curse.
Now imagine having not one but TWO young wives and receiving a curse saying that touching either of them means instant death.
A man could reasonably feel like hanging himself eight times from eight different trees.
Pandu more or less reached that level of despair.
He decided to give up the throne and retire to the forest at Khandavaprastha.
Kunti and Madri, however, decided to accompany him.
Here the story gets even more interesting.
Kunti possessed a rather unusual supernatural ability. Through a special mantra, she could invoke whichever deity she desired and have a child through him.
Modern readers have seen celebrities such as Cristiano Ronaldo, Paris Hilton or Priyanka Chopra becoming parents with the help of surrogacy.
Kunti basically went in the opposite direction.
They used surrogate mothers.
Kunti used surrogate fathers.
She summoned Surya, the Sun God — and Karna was born.
She invoked Dharma — and Yudhishthira was born.
She called Vayu, the Wind God — and Bhima arrived.
She summoned Indra — and along came Arjuna.
At this point Kunti apparently decided there was no reason to keep this technology proprietary, so she taught Madri the “surrogate father mantra” as well.
Madri summoned the Ashvini Kumars.
Result:
Twins.
Nakula and Sahadeva.
And that is how the Pandava generation was assembled without Pandu being allowed anywhere near the production department.
Eventually Pandu died, and Kunti and Madri’s children returned to Hastinapur.
These children became known as the Pandavas.
Meanwhile, Hastinapur was effectively under the control of Duryodhana, son of the blind Dhritarashtra.
According to their claim of legitimacy and succession, the Pandavas demanded their share of the kingdom.
Duryodhana’s response was essentially:
“No.”
Duryodhana and his side belonged to the Kaurava line.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the family disagreement escalated slightly beyond an argument over inheritance.
The result was Kurukshetra:
Pandavas on one side.
Kauravas on the other.
And possibly the most spectacularly unsuccessful family property dispute in human mythology.
Disclaimer: Bit modified and add fun from Original Mahabharat (but however, mostly its true)
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