In the palace of Hastinapura, celebration and envy danced side by side. The five Pandava brothers had recently returned from their military training under Guru Drona and were becoming highly popular among the citizens and elders of the court. Yudhishthira, the eldest, was wise and just. Naturally, he was being seen as the rightful heir to the throne.
But not everyone was happy.
Duryodhana, the son of Dhritarashtra and crown prince of the Kauravas, burned with jealousy. He feared the growing admiration for the Pandavas would push him out of the succession race. In private meetings with his cunning uncle Shakuni, he voiced his hatred.
Duryodhana said, “As long as they breathe, I’ll never wear the crown.”Â
Shakuni replied with a smirk, “Then make sure they don’t breathe, my prince. Let’s build them a resting place… forever.”
And so began one of the earliest political assassination plots in Indian history.
Duryodhana convinced King Dhritarashtra to send the Pandavas on a “holiday” to a town called Varnavrat, far from the capital. He promised to build them a luxurious palace there, a reward for their service and peace from the court’s politics.
But the house he built was not made of stone.
It was constructed using highly flammable materials: lac (a resin), wax, ghee, and oil-rich wood. To the untrained eye, it looked like a palace of comfort. But it was a carefully prepared death trap. A servant named Purochana was stationed there to eventually set fire to it when the time was right.
Vidura, the sharpest mind in the Kuru dynasty and half-brother to the king, saw through the plot. Though he could not openly oppose the plan, he warned Yudhishthira in a coded message.
“A wise man builds his escape when he sees oil in the walls,” Vidura said. “Even a rat digs a tunnel when it smells fire.”
Yudhishthira understood. This wasn’t a gift—it was a planned funeral.
Upon arriving at the palace in Varnavrat, the Pandavas pretended to enjoy the luxury but secretly began working on a tunnel beneath the house. They hired local miners and instructed them to dig in secret.
Bhima, the strongest, used clever methods to hide the displaced soil. He mixed it in with grains and food deliveries to avoid suspicion.
They waited.
One night, with the tunnel complete, the Pandavas set fire to the house themselves. The flames spread quickly, consuming the entire structure. Purochana, who was inside, died in the fire.
The news spread rapidly: “The Pandavas are dead!”
But the truth was very different.
The five brothers and their mother Kunti had escaped quietly through the underground passage. They emerged in the forest outside Varnavrat and vanished without a trace.
Now believed to be dead, the Pandavas used the opportunity to stay hidden. They changed clothes, disguised themselves as traveling brahmins, and lived in the forest.
They would reappear only later—at Draupadi’s swayamvara—shocking the entire political world.
This was no fantasy. The Lakshagriha incident is a classic example of political conspiracy, counterintelligence, survival engineering, and strategic escape. The Pandavas survived not through miracles, but through planning, loyalty, and rational decision-making.
And it changed the course of the Mahabharata forever.
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