I am Kunti...

I am Kunti...

No...

I am Pritha Devi.

Yes. Pritha Devi was my original name.

I was the eldest daughter of Shurasena, of the illustrious Yadava lineage—the very lineage to which my beloved Krishna belonged. Vasudeva, Krishna's father, was my brother.

And he was not my only brother.

I had nine other brothers and four sisters.

Shrutashrava, the mother of Shishupala; Shrutakirti, the mother of the King of Kekaya; Rajadhidevi, the mother of Vindha and Anuvindha—they too were my sisters.

I often wonder why their children eventually grew such hatred toward Krishna.

But that is another story.

Despite having such a large family, I never had the fortune of growing up surrounded by my brothers and sisters. I spent my childhood alone.

There was a reason.

My father's friend, King Kuntibhoja, had no children. So my father gave me in adoption to him.

Even with ten sons of his own, why did he choose to give me away?

I never knew.

And so, I ceased to be Pritha and became Kunti.

My adoptive father loved me immensely. He raised me with great affection. I was beautiful, gentle, and obedient, and I became dearly loved within the palace.

Yet I had left behind a large family and begun growing up alone.

Then came Sage Durvasa.

Everyone both feared and revered him. Perhaps he was known more for his curses than for his blessings.

My adoptive father entrusted me with the responsibility of serving him and attending to all his needs during his stay.

I served him with devotion and respect.

And the reward I received was extraordinary.

He gave me a divine mantra.

Whichever deity I invoked through that mantra would appear before me and bless me with a child.

I was overwhelmed with curiosity.

Would the mantra really work?

How would it work?

Would the gods truly appear before me?

How would a child be born?

One question after another filled my young mind.

And it was that curiosity that led me to my first great mistake.

One beautiful morning, as I watched the radiant sunrise, I invoked the Sun God.

I recited the mantra.

And Surya appeared before me.

I was terrified.

The moment I saw him standing before me, my entire body trembled.

I pleaded with him to leave.

But he could not simply turn back.

To refuse to fulfill the boon granted through Sage Durvasa's mantra would, perhaps, have been to dishonour the sage's divine gift.

And so, Surya departed only after fulfilling the purpose for which he had appeared.

But I...

I was left with a child.

Without ever having been married.

The child was extraordinarily beautiful.

He was born wearing divine armour and celestial earrings.

What brilliance radiated from his face!

He was my son.

Yet I had no right, in the eyes of society, to hold him as my own.

I could not experience the joy of raising him.

I could not hear him call me Mother.

Fearful of a society that would condemn me, I placed that innocent child in a basket and set him afloat upon the waters of the Ganga.

People judged me.

People condemned me.

People spoke cruel words.

But who could ever understand the agony of a mother forced to part with her own child?

Who could I speak to?

Who could I tell about the pain burning within me?

I carried that secret alone.

Amidst that unbearable anguish, I eventually married Pandu of Hastinapura.

He was brave.

He was noble.

He was a worthy king.

But could I tell him the truth?

What husband would accept such a past?

For the honour of the family, I remained silent.

And so, I entered the palace as a queen.

But that happiness did not last long.

Pandu and I could not have children.

Only I knew the reason why.

To say that the fault was mine would have been a lie.

But how could I reveal the truth?

Pandu eventually married Madri.

She was extraordinarily beautiful.

After all, kings were accustomed to having more than one wife. To them, it was considered a sign of royal power and masculinity.

I felt anger.

I felt hurt.

Yet I had to accept her.

Just when we were about to begin our married life together, destiny struck us again.

A curse.

One day, King Pandu was hunting in the forest.

Sage Kindama and his wife had assumed the form of deer.

Pandu shot an arrow at them, unaware of their true identity, and became the cause of the sage's death.

The dying sage cursed him:

If Pandu ever approached or touched a woman with desire, death would immediately claim him.

What kind of married life could exist after such a curse?

Overcome with anguish and guilt, Pandu abandoned the palace and chose to live in the forest.

Madri and I followed him.

And there we were—the three of us—standing before an uncertain future.

What next?

That question haunted all three of us.

At last, I had no choice but to reveal the secret of Sage Durvasa's boon.

The Kuru lineage needed heirs.

Pandu accepted the possibility.

And so, through the divine mantra, I invoked the gods.

From Yama, the Lord of Dharma, I received Yudhishthira, a son devoted to righteousness.

From Vayu, the mighty wind god, came Bhima, powerful beyond measure.

From Indra came Arjuna, handsome, heroic, and destined to become one of the greatest warriors the world would ever know.

When Madri saw my children, she too longed to become a mother.

I understood her longing.

And so, I shared the divine mantra with her.

She invoked the Ashwini Kumaras and was blessed with the beautiful twins Nakula and Sahadeva.

At last, Pandu had five sons.

The five Pandavas.

For a while, everything seemed complete.

We had the children we longed for.

Our family was whole.

Life finally appeared peaceful.

But just when I believed that our suffering had come to an end...

Another bitter chapter was waiting for us.

I shall tell you about that another day...