The Lake of Whispers: A King's Final Test

The air is thick, heavy with the heat of a merciless sun that has baked the earth for twelve long years. This is the Dvaita Forest, and it is here our story unfolds, in the final days of a long and arduous exile.

The Pandavas, five brothers of legendary valour and sons of kings, are wanderers in their own land. Led by the eldest, Yudhisthira—the very embodiment of Dharma (righteousness)—they have endured every trial the wilderness has thrown at them. But today, the trial is a simple, primal one: thirst. A thirst so profound it cracks the lips and clouds the mind.

A deer, struck by Yudhisthira’s arrow, has vanished into the woods. The brothers, weary from the chase, are desperate for water. Nakula, the youngest and most handsome, volunteers to find some. He climbs a tall tree and his eyes light up. In the distance, he sees a crystal-clear lake, shimmering like a jewel amidst the dusty green, surrounded by cranes.

Relief washes over the camp. Nakula races towards the water, his throat burning. He reaches the shore of the serene lake, a paradise in the parched landscape. The water is so clear, so inviting. He cups his hands, ready to drink the life-giving liquid.

“STOP!”

The voice is not human. It is bodiless, ethereal, seeming to echo from the very air around him. “This lake is mine. Answer my questions before you drink. If you ignore me, you will die.”

Nakula, proud and desperate, glances around. He sees no one. A trick of the heat, he thinks, an illusion. He scoffs at the warning and drinks deeply from the lake. The moment the cool water touches his lips, his strength fails him. His vital energies drain away, and he falls to the ground, appearing as one dead.

When Nakula doesn’t return, his twin, Sahadeva, follows. He finds the same enchanting lake and his brother lying motionless on its bank. Grief and rage mix with his own desperate thirst. As he stoops to drink, the same voice warns him. Like his brother, he ignores the disembodied command. And like his brother, he falls.

One by one, they come. The mighty Arjuna, the wielder of the divine bow Gandiva, arrives, heartbroken to see his younger brothers. The voice challenges him, but Arjuna’s pride is his undoing. He shoots arrows into the air, trying to find the source of the sound, but finds nothing. Overcome by thirst, he drinks and collapses.

Finally, the colossal Bhima, with the strength of ten thousand elephants, arrives. The sight of his three fallen brothers sends him into a blind rage. He vows to avenge them, but first, he must quench the fire in his throat. The voice warns him, “I am a Yaksha, a guardian of this lake. I killed your brothers. Answer me, or join them!” Bhima roars in defiance and drinks. Even his immense power is no match for the Yaksha’s curse. He, too, falls.

Back at the camp, a deep unease settles upon Yudhisthira. His brothers, invincible warriors, have all vanished. Fearing the worst, he follows their path, his heart heavy with a sorrow he cannot yet name.

He arrives at the lake. The sight that greets him shatters his soul. His four brothers, the pillars of his world, lie still and pale upon the shore. Who could have done this? What power could fell Bhima and Arjuna? His eyes well up, but he knows that weeping will not bring them back. His own thirst is now a raging inferno, yet as he approaches the water, wisdom and his innate sense of Dharma hold him back. He senses a power here that is not of this world.

“I warned them,” the voice resonates, calm and powerful. “They would not listen. This lake is mine. Before you drink, you must answer my questions. If you succeed, you may drink. If you fail… you will be the fifth.”

Yudhisthira turns, not with fear, but with a solemn acceptance. He sees a crane standing on the bank, and from it, the voice seems to emanate. “I do not wish to take what is not mine,” Yudhisthira says, his voice steady despite his grief. “Ask your questions. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

And so began the most profound dialogue the ancient world has ever known. The Yaksha, a celestial spirit in disguise, did not ask riddles of material wealth or war. He asked about life, ethics, and the very nature of existence.

“What is swifter than the wind?” the Yaksha asked.

Yudhisthira replied without hesitation, “The mind.”

“What is more numerous than grass?”

“Our thoughts.”

“What is the greatest wonder in the world?”

Yudhisthira’s answer was profound, a truth that echoes through eternity:

“Day after day, countless creatures are going to the abode of Death. Yet, those who remain behind believe themselves to be immortal. This is truly the greatest wonder.”

The questions continued, a torrent of philosophical inquiry. Who is truly happy? What is true wealth? What is Dharma? With patience and unwavering clarity, Yudhisthira answered every single one. He spoke of conscience as the only vessel, of truth as the path to heaven, and of good conduct as the highest happiness.

Finally, the Yaksha was silent. The crane shimmered and transformed, revealing a luminous, divine being. It was Dharma, the God of Justice, Yudhisthira’s own celestial father.

“Well done, my son,” Dharma said, his voice now filled with paternal pride. “I am pleased. Your brothers are not dead, only in a swoon. I came to test you, and you have proven that your virtue is your greatest strength. I grant you a boon. Choose one of your brothers, and he will live.”

Here was the final, most piercing test. Who would he choose? The mighty Bhima, his protector? The peerless archer Arjuna, on whom their victory in any future war depended?

Yudhisthira’s response stunned even the God of Justice.

“O Lord,” he said, bowing low. “Let Nakula live.”

Dharma was taken aback. “Nakula? Why not Bhima, whose strength is essential? Why not Arjuna, your key to regaining your kingdom? Why the son of Madri?”

Yudhisthira’s answer sealed his legend forever. “My father had two wives, Kunti and Madri. I, a son of Kunti, am alive. Thus, her line is not lost. To be just, a son of Madri must also live. Let Dharma, my lord, not be forsaken for the sake of power or sentiment. Let both mothers have a living son.”

A smile of pure bliss spread across Dharma’s face. In that single choice, Yudhisthira had proven that he didn’t just know the words of righteousness; he lived by its very soul. He had chosen selfless justice over personal gain.

“You are the greatest of men, Yudhisthira,” Dharma declared. “For this supreme act of Dharma, not one, but all of your brothers shall live.”

One by one, the four brothers awoke as if from a long sleep. The lake, once a place of death, was now a site of reunion and divine blessing. Dharma not only restored the Pandavas but also granted them a boon to remain unrecognized during their final year of exile.

The story of the Yaksha’s questions is more than a myth. It is a mirror. It teaches us that true strength isn’t in the might of our arms, but in the clarity of our conscience. It reminds us that in the face of life’s deepest thirsts—for power, for success, for survival—the only drink that truly sustains is the water of wisdom and righteousness. And it asks us, as we navigate our own forests of trial, the ultimate question: when faced with the final test, what choices will we make?