"Then answer made Purandará, the God: 'O thou compassionate and noblest One, Rest in the pleasures which thy deeds have gained. How, being as are the Gods, canst thou live bound By mortal chains? Thou art become of Us, Who live above hatred and love, in bliss Pinnacled, safe, supreme. Sun of thy race. Thy brothers cannot reach where thou hast climbed: Most glorious lord of men, let not thy peace Be touched by stir of earth! Look! this is Heaven. See where the saints sit, and the happy souls, Siddhas and angels, and the gods who live For ever and for ever.'
"'King of gods,' Spake Yudhishthira, 'but I will not live A little space without those souls I loved. O Slayer of the demons! let me go Where Bhíma and my brothers are, and she, My Draupadí, the princess with the face Softer and darker than the Vrihat-leaf, And soul as sweet as are its odours. Lo! Where they have gone, there will I surely go,'"
THE SWARGAROHANA PARVA OF THE MAHÁBHARATA; OR, "THE ENTRY INTO HEAVEN."
_To Narayen, Lord of lords, be glory given, To Queen Saraswati be praise in heaven; Unto Vyâsa pay the reverence due,-- So may this story its high course pursue._
Then Janmejaya said: "I am fain to learn How it befell with my great forefathers, The Pandu chiefs and Dhritarashtra's sons, Being to heaven ascended. If thou know'st,-- And thou know'st all, whom wise Vyâsa taught-- Tell me, how fared it with those mighty souls?"
Answered the Sage: "Hear of thy forefathers-- Great Yudhishthira and the Pandu lords-- How it befell. When thus the blameless king Was entered into heaven, there he beheld Duryodhana, his foe, throned as a god Amid the gods; splendidly sate that prince, Peaceful and proud, the radiance of his brows Far-shining like the sun's; and round him thronged Spirits of light, with Sádhyas,--companies Goodly to see. But when the king beheld Duryodhana in bliss, and not his own,-- Not Draupadí, nor Bhíma, nor the rest,-- With quick-averted face and angry eyes The monarch spake: 'Keep heaven for such as these If these come here! I do not wish to dwell Where he is, whom I hated rightfully, Being a covetous and witless prince, Whose deed it was that in wild fields of war Brothers and friends by mutual slaughter fell, While our swords smote, sharpened so wrathfully By all those wrongs borne wandering in the woods: But Draupadí's the deepest wrong, for he-- He who sits there--haled her before the court, Seizing that sweet and virtuous lady--he!-- With grievous hand wound in her tresses. Gods, I cannot look upon him! Sith 'tis so, Where are my brothers? Thither will I go!'