31.
The countdown had begun. From camp to camp
excited rumors spread; even the breeze
stirred differently. Men who for many weeks
and months had grown acclimatized to waiting
so that each camp had become a makeshift town
with its own rules and customs, almost home-like,
now sensed in the vibrations of the air
and self-important scurrying of runners
that battle was approaching. Blacksmiths’ fires
were bellowed to white heat, whetstones were tested,
spears and arrows sharpened, armor burnished
until it dazzled like the sun itself.
Even the animals got wind of it.
Elephants fretted, straining at their tethers,
swinging their great heads from side to side;
horses rolled their eyes, their nostrils flaring
in longing for the freedom of the gallop.
Just as bees, preparing for mass flight,
seethe and sing, making the hive throb
with anticipation, so the troops
milled about in what seemed wild confusion
but, in fact, was highly organized,
every man concentrating on his tasks.
In each camp, the shout went out, “Form up!
Form up!” And in the din of chariot wheels,
of roaring elephants, of drums and conches,
the hosts of foot soldiers formed their divisions,
then marched about, practicing fierce war cries,
joking, trying out armor and weapons.
Yudhishthira convened his war council
and asked Krishna to give them a report
on his mission to Hastinapura.
Krishna described his negotiations,
the diplomatic twists and turns—but nothing
of his private talk with the suta’s son.
“That man Duryodhana does not want peace.
He scorns the law and, drinking in the words
of Karna, he thinks he has won already!
Only Vidura stands up to him.
The villain is wronging you. There must be war.”
Leading each of the seven Pandava armies
was a great and experienced warrior:
Bhima, brave and bull-like Pandava;
Drupada, the father of Draupadi;
Dhrishtadyumna, her brother, born from fire;
Virata, who had sheltered the Pandavas
during their final year of exile, now
joined to them by marriage; Chekitana,
long-standing ally of the Pandavas;
Shikhandin, elder son of Drupada;
and Satyaki, Krishna’s friend and kinsman.
Which of them should be commander-in-chief?
There was much discussion. Finally,
Yudhishthira appointed Dhrishtadyumna.
Krishna urged deployment of the troops
with all speed. Since every hope of peace
lay in ashes, only slaughter remained.
Balarama, Krishna’s brother, refused
any part in this war between kinsmen.
He had taught the mace both to Bhima
and to Duryodhana, and could not bear
to contemplate the death of either man.
With heavy heart, he prepared to set out
on a pilgrimage, along the Sarasvati.
The young princes took their leave of Draupadi,
who stayed in Upaplavya with the women
of the household and their maids and servants.
Like a slow-moving landmass, the force set off—
hundreds of thousands of armored infantry,
tens of thousands of bullock carts, laden
with food, equipment, every kind of weapon,
making for the plain of Kurukshetra.
With them went servants, cooks, surgeons, craftsmen,
attendants and camp followers. Rank on rank
of glossy horses, harnessed to forty thousand
fine chariots, came next, and then war elephants,
tusks sharpened to lethal points, all trained to stay
calm in the cacophony of battle.
Yudhishthira led his armies onward
day after day, until at last they reached
the river Hiranvati at Kurukshetra,
where he chose the site for their encampment,
avoiding cremation grounds and holy shrines.
The river ran clear and sweet, and provided
easy fording places. Yudhishthira
ordered that a deep defensive moat
be dug round the cantonment, where there were
tents erected for the noble warriors,
well supplied with firewood, food and water.
In each tent stout bows were placed, and plentiful
stocks of iron-tipped arrows, shields, cuirasses,
javelins and animal fodder. Everywhere,
artisans were plying their essential trades.
Enclosed, tethered, elephants by the hundred
were jacketed in plates of spiked armor.
Yudhishthira confided to Arjuna
how he quaked with dread—that things had come
to this, as though no effort had been made!
“Brother,” said Arjuna, “you heard the message
our mother sent through Krishna; she is right.
It is our dharma and our destiny
to battle for what is right.” Yudhishthira
could not disagree. He would perform
his duty as the king, and yet it seemed
as though a nightmarish, impersonal
force was driving him inexorably
toward a precipice . . .
On the plain around Hastinapura,
stretching far, far into the distance,
the vast allied forces of the Kauravas—
eleven armies—waited in readiness.
Fragrant smoke from a hundred thousand fires
curled upward, hovering as a murky haze
above the city, before dispersing slowly.
For many weeks, the bustle of preparation
had been a constant hubbub in the background
of the citizens’ quotidian lives.
Now that the point had come for girls and women
to part from their sons, their brothers and husbands,
were they struck, as if for the first time,
by what it meant—that their dear beloved
might never clasp them in his arms again?
That his voice, so ordinary a strand
in the fabric of their daily lives,
might become a sound bitterly yearned for
so that, for years to come, a distant voice
resembling his would make them turn their heads
and weep?
Now Duryodhana appointed
the commander-in-chief of all his armies.
He asked Bhishma, incorruptible,
distinguished warrior of enormous skill,
to take that post. “You must know,” said Bhishma,
“that the Pandavas are very dear to me,
just as you are. But I have pledged to fight
in your cause. I am experienced
in all the various battle formations;
I know how to deploy an army, how to
plan a battle, I have at my command
weapons which could empty the world of people.
But I shall be judicious. I will be
commander-in-chief—but on this condition:
either I must fight first, or Karna must.
The driver’s son always seeks to rival me;
I will not ride out with him.”
Then Karna spoke:
“There is no way I will fight while Bhishma,
that spawn of the river Ganga, is alive!
When he is cut down, I will take up arms
and battle to the death with Arjuna.”
“You must also understand,” said Bhishma,
“that though I will exert my every nerve,
summon all my expertise to kill
the Pandava forces, I will never fight
Shikhandin.”
“Why is that?” asked Duryodhana.
“Because he was once a woman,” Bhishma said,
“and I will not fight a woman. He was born
as Shikhandini, daughter of Drupada.
And in her former life, she was Amba
whom I abducted, together with her sisters,
as brides for my brother, Vichitravirya.
When Amba revealed that she was betrothed
to another suitor, I allowed her to leave.
I shall tell you what happened to her then.
“Having chosen King Shalva as her husband
before I carried her off, she traveled,
with my blessing, to his court. But he refused
to take her as his wife, regarding her
as my cast-off. Useless for her to plead
that there had never been any question
of marriage with me. He spurned her with contempt.
“Heartbroken, she sought refuge in the forest.
Brahmins advised her, ‘Go back to your father,’
but she knew she would only be despised.
Then she sought out Rama Jamadagnya,
the great weapons teacher and ascetic—
he who taught me everything I know
about the arts of war. She begged him piteously
to kill me, whom she saw as the sole source
of her bitter grief. Rama ordered me
to marry her myself, but I would not break
my vow of celibacy.
“Furious,
Rama challenged me, and he and I
battled for many days. Each of us
invoked our powerful celestial weapons,
so that the mountains trembled and the sky
was red with boiling flame. Each of us
received agonizing wounds, but neither
could prevail over the other. Finally,
Rama’s ancestors urged him to withdraw,
and he told Amba he had done all he could
and advised her to seek my protection.
But pride would not allow it. She passionately
wished me dead.
“Meanwhile, King Drupada,
longing to avenge himself on Drona,
and having no strong son at that time, prayed
to Lord Shiva for a son. ‘You shall have
a son in female form,’ replied Shiva,
‘and you must content yourself with that.’
“After severe austerities, and making
heartfelt pleas to powerful gods, Amba
set fire to herself and, with her final breath,
vowed that she would have revenge on me.
She was reborn as Drupada’s daughter.
He and his wife named her Shikhandini
and reared her as the son they had always wanted.
She learned the skills and manners of a prince
and became accomplished in the arts of war,
taught by Drona in his weapons school.
When the time came, Drupada married her
to the daughter of the king of the Dasharnas—
whereupon she could simulate no longer.
Grossly insulted, her father-in-law sent
brahmin envoys, articulate in insults,
to challenge Drupada, giving notice
that an invading army would be dispatched
if Drupada’s son was, indeed, a woman.
“What could be done? Drupada started praying.
His wife said, ‘Piety is well and good
but you also have to use your wits.
Decide what you should tell your councillors,
then worship the gods to your heart’s content.’
Drupada and his queen devised a plan:
the king would claim that his wife had deceived him—
only now did he know his son was a girl!
“In despair, and fearing for her parents,
Shikhandini fled far into the forest,
to starve herself to death. But a yaksha
granted her a boon—for a fixed time,
but long enough, he would become a woman,
and give her his masculine attributes.
Thus transformed, and full of confidence,
she went back to Kampilya, her father’s court,
and revealed the good news to her parents.
Now, truly, she was Prince Shikhandin.
“To test the truth of things once and for all,
and meanwhile gearing up for an attack
on Panchala, the wrathful Dasharna king
brought an inspection party to Kampilya:
several gorgeous women. They were escorted
to Shikhandin’s apartments. Hours later,
they emerged smiling, fully satisfied:
Prince Shikhandin was indeed a man.
Drupada breathed deeply, then ordered up
a sumptuous feast for his visitors
before they happily made their way back home,
the two kings, henceforth, on the best of terms.
“Sorrowfully returning to the forest,
the prince prepared to honor his agreement
with the helpful yaksha, and take back
his female body. But the yaksha told him
that, since they had last met, he had been cursed
by Kubera, the short-tempered yaksha king,
and must remain a woman until Shikhandin
should meet his death on the field of battle.
The prince was filled with joy and gratitude.
“Now he leads an army for the Pandavas
and has marked me as his adversary.
But, because he was born as a woman,
I will not fight him. Fate must take its course.”
Duryodhana had appointed generals
from among the experienced warrior kings,
and consecrated them with ceremony.
Advised by Bhishma, he had rated them
according to their skill and experience.
When it came to Karna, Bhishma judged him
as second-rate. Karna was furious,
“Left to myself, I could destroy the army
of the Pandavas in a mere five days!”
Bhishma laughed at him. “You prove my point.
You are rash and silly. Victory
can never be achieved that easily.”
As brahmins performed Bhishma’s consecration
bloody rain fell, and disembodied voices
were heard; jackals howled ferociously
and meteors streaked across the glowering sky.
To solicit blessings, Duryodhana
lavished gold and cattle on the brahmins,
and, strengthened by their ritual benedictions,
he marched to Kurukshetra with his armies.
There, with Karna, he measured out the camp
on the west side of the plain, on pleasant ground,
where there was easy access to fresh water.
Even the smallest details of provisioning
had been anticipated—spare axles, ropes,
banners and pennants, spades, horns, every weapon
one would expect. Even bells and rugs
had been thought of, and bunches of fresh herbs
to tie onto the chariots, to ward off evil.
With the tents erected and arranged,
the camp looked as rich as Hastinapura.
Uluka, son of Shakuni, was told
to take a message from Duryodhana
to Yudhishthira, a ritual taunt:
“Now is the time to prove yourself a man!
You lost at dice, you saw your blameless wife
dishonored, you endured long years of exile
and lost your kingdom—who would not be angry?
But angry words are one thing, courageous acts
are another. Are you brave enough
or are you impotent, you and your brothers?
Can Bhima drink the blood of Duhshasana
as he swore to do in the gaming hall?
Will you have your much vaunted revenge
or are you all hot air? Join battle with us:
either rule the earth by defeating us
or be killed and go to the heaven of heroes.
“In fact, you stand no chance—how can you beat
Bhishma, that mountain among warriors,
or Drona, master of the Brahma weapon?
Even though Krishna always takes your side,
even though you have the bow Gandiva,
I won your kingdom, and for thirteen years
I have enjoyed it. I shall enjoy it still
after I have killed you and all your kinsmen.
And when you flounder, helpless in the flood
of mighty Kauravas, when all your friends
lie dead around you, then you will regret
taking up arms against me and my brothers.”
The Pandavas, hearing these boastful words,
were enraged, pacing up and down, their eyes
red with fury. Seeing this, Krishna
spoke to Uluka: “Leave this place at once,
gambler’s son, and say this to Duryodhana:
‘Be careful, villain! Even though Arjuna
has appointed me his charioteer,
and even though I said I would not fight,
a time may come when, as a last resort,
I shall scorch your forces like a field of straw.
Meanwhile the Pandavas are in good heart,
as you will learn tomorrow.’”
Arjuna,
Wearer of the Diadem, added, “Go,
gambler’s son, say this to Duryodhana:
‘You may think me too compassionate
to kill Bhishma, when the moment comes.
I assure you, I shall kill him first;
pelted by my arrows, he will topple
from his chariot while you look on, appalled.
And that is the start. You are about to reap
the bitter harvest of your wickedness.’”