VII
37.
Janamejaya said:
“After the great Bhishma was cut down
and the news was carried to Dhritarashtra,
how did the blind king survive the sorrow?
Tell me in detail, Vaishampayana.”
Vyasa’s disciple spoke:
Hastinapura. Endless days of waiting.
For the blind king, life seems to be suspended
as he sits and waits, waits for Sanjaya
to come with further news from Kurukshetra.
He mourns the bitter loss of the great Bhishma—
how can the Kauravas prevail, deprived
of the patriarch? They must be floundering.
But even now, even though Bhishma lies
dying on his painful bed of arrows,
Dhritarashtra entertains some hope
that his son will yet defeat the Pandavas.
At last Sanjaya arrives with recent news
and the news is worse than nightmare—great Drona,
who had succeeded Bhishma as commander,
has been struck down. The master is no more.
When Dhritarashtra heard from Sanjaya
of the death of the supreme weapons master
his limbs turned to water and he fell
fainting to the ground. The women with him
rushed to lift him up, and gently placed him
on the throne, weeping, fanning him
until he began to move. When he revived
he cried to Sanjaya, “Dead? Impossible!
Greatest of warriors, the man who taught
generations of fine kshatriyas
everything they know of the arts of war
cannot be dead! It must have been some chance,
some freak accident. Oh, Sanjaya,
I foresee a time when you and I
will have to kneel before Yudhishthira
as abject supplicants with our begging bowls.
It is clear that, struggle as we may,
the gods’ design, pitiless time, propels us
where it will. It is as if I too am dead,
as if Mount Meru had collapsed, the sun
fallen from the firmament . . .
“But tell me
how it came to this. Who brought himself
to kill that peerless brahmin? Dhrishtadyumna?
But why was he not stopped? Why was Drona
not protected by his friends and allies?
Yet—who could stand against the might of Krishna
and those he protects, for he and Arjuna
are Nara and Narayana incarnate,
one divine soul split between two bodies.
Oh, how is my son bearing this disaster?
What’s to be done? Who has replaced Drona?”
Seeing that, even now, Dhritarashtra
was hoping for victory for the Kauravas,
Sanjaya described the dire events
that culminated in the death of Drona.
When Bhishma lay down on his bed of arrows
never to rise again, the Kauravas
were utterly bereft. They were like a boat
foundering far from land on violent seas.
Their thoughts turned to Karna—he was the hero
who could save them from terror and defeat!
“Karna! Karna!” they cried. The driver’s son
came to them at once. The time had come
for him to play his part. He addressed the troops.
“The Kauravas have lost their great protector,
their pinnacle. If the patriarch, towering
like a mountain, can be thrown like this,
should we not reflect on the impermanence
of all things? Surely all of us are drifting
toward the jaws of death, all transient.
Considering this, all that remains is duty.
Why should we be afraid? I am ready
to take up the burden left by Bhishma.
“Bring my bright armor, sparkling with gold and gems;
heft it onto my shoulders. Bring my fine bow,
my quivers, my belt patterned like a serpent.
Bring out my horses, my well-fashioned chariot,
my standard, adorned with blue lotus flowers.
I will fight with all my reserves of strength
in the cause of noble Duryodhana.
I shall crush his enemies, or else
I shall sleep soundly on the field of battle.
Either is honorable.” When they heard this
the Kauravas, heartened beyond measure,
sent up a great cheer.
Then Karna went
back to the place where Bhishma lay, his eyes
closed in meditation. A small awning
had been erected over him, to shield him
from the sun’s relentless rays. Karna wept
to see that paragon of mind and spirit,
that prince of warriors, foremost Bharata,
reduced to this. Karna approached him humbly
with joined palms. “It is I again, Karna,
come to seek encouragement. I know
the power residing in the Pandavas.
Who could defeat Arjuna if you,
with all your skill, all your celestial weapons,
could not prevail? Yet I must believe
that I can kill him. Give me a word of comfort.”
“My child,” said Bhishma, “your great loyalty
to your friends is legendary. In warfare,
remember all you have achieved till now—
the kingdoms conquered for Duryodhana.
The Kambojas, the Kiratas, the Kalingas
and many other clans were brought by you,
by fearlessness and through sheer martial skill,
into the fold of our expanding kingdom.
Be to your friends as Vishnu to the gods.
Firm of purpose, be an inspiration,
lead them on the path which you have chosen.”
Karna, cheered by these auspicious words,
stooped to touch the feet of the patriarch.
Then he rode back to the Kaurava camp.
Duryodhana drew great reassurance
from Karna’s firm resolve. He told himself
that Bhishma’s heart had been with the Pandavas—
that was why he had not defeated them.
But Karna was a warrior whose loyalty
was beyond question. He asked his friend’s advice:
“Now that Bhishma is no longer with us,
who should take his place as supreme commander?”
Karna replied, “There are many great contenders
but the one who stands above them all
is Drona, the wise teacher. He should be asked.
Only he can command the confidence
of every warrior in your fighting force.”
Humbly, and with lavish words of praise,
Duryodhana approached the old master
and, to the frenzied cheering of the troops,
appointed him to lead the entire army.
“I am honored,” he said. “The Pandavas
will find it difficult to fight with me.
But I cannot kill Dhrishtadyumna,
son of Drupada; that man is destined
to be the death of me. Now, you should say
what is the outcome that would please you most,
and, if I can, I shall accomplish it.”
“Well then,” said cunning Duryodhana,
“I want you to seize Yudhishthira alive
and bring him to me.” Drona was astonished.
Did Duryodhana perhaps intend,
after all, to give up half the kingdom?
“But why do you not seek his death?” he asked.
Duryodhana smiled. “If Yudhishthira dies,
I can’t win. Arjuna would never rest
until he had slaughtered every one of us.
But as my prisoner, saintly Yudhishthira
can be enticed into another dice game,
which he will lose, and off he’ll have to go
back to the forest, and his brothers with him.
There we are! The kingdom remains mine.”
Drona disliked this plan, but he had promised
to do his best to fulfill the prince’s wish.
“I can attempt so bold a capture only
if Arjuna can somehow be drawn away,
leaving Yudhishthira without protection.”
“You had better succeed,” said Duryodhana,
suspecting him of partiality
toward the Pandavas. He then ensured
that Drona’s promise was made known to all,
so he could not renege—with the result
that Yudhishthira came to know of it.
Arjuna promised he would be protected.
With ceremony and with great rejoicing
the army witnessed Drona’s consecration.
Then he ordered the troops into battle lines
with Karna leading the chariot warriors.
The driver’s son, though he was now deprived
of the breastplate and earrings he was born with,
glowed with a golden light, tall and beautiful,
and all who saw him felt their hearts lift, thinking,
“Bhishma is lost to us, but we have Karna;
Karna will save us from catastrophe.”
Staring at him across no-man’s-land,
Arjuna stood resplendent on his chariot,
Gandiva at his side, the monkey banner
fluttering above him. At the reins
was Krishna, with his discus, Sudarshana,
a luminous circle hanging in his hand
as though he held the wheel of time itself.
Karna, Arjuna: perfectly matched archers,
each with the other’s death within his sights.
Which would inflict defeat upon the other?
As the armies surged across the field
the earth shuddered and, from the glowering sky,
a torrent of blood and bones poured down, and vultures,
jackals and other scavengers appeared,
circling greedily, howling, screeching.
White-haired Drona, as though a youth again,
scorched the well-trained Pandava divisions
like whirling fire consuming a great forest,
his reserve of celestial weapons raining
death onto the struggling enemy.
His bow was like a bolt of monsoon lightning
flashing amidst dark clouds of deadly arrows.
The ground was slippery with blood, and marrow
oozed from the mangled bodies of the dead—
numberless heroes now already traveling
to Yama’s realm. Soon it was a crimson
river of blood, swirling with severed limbs
and broken chariots.
Careful Yudhishthira,
mindful of the plan to capture him,
asked Arjuna to stay close. The Terrifier
assured him the stars would tumble from the sky
before Duryodhana would have his way.
“It’s true that I would rather lose my life
than fight Drona, to whom I owe everything.
But my promise to you stands—I have never
made a vow and left it unredeemed.”
Watching from some vantage point, O king,
a connoisseur of horses could have counted
horses dappled like the antelope,
horses pale as the moon, pale as milk,
pigeon-colored horses, dark blue stallions,
horses the color of fresh mustard flowers,
horses red as the red deer, with flashes
of startling white on their chests and necks,
dark spotted horses, others honey brown,
still others black as impenetrable night,
beautiful cream horses with black manes,
glossy chargers gleaming like polished wood;
delicate Sindhu horses, dusky as smoke—
so many lovely ones, thousands and thousands,
many decorated with gold chains,
yoked to splendid chariots.
And above them
flew the gorgeous individual standards
of each chariot warrior: Drona’s, black
deerskin, emblazoned with a water vessel.
Bhima’s bore a gigantic silver lion,
its eyes picked out in lapis lazuli;
Yudhishthira’s had a golden moon device
with planets circling it; Sahadeva’s
bore a silver goose, and Abhimanyu’s
a sharngaka bird, bright as beaten gold.
On Ghatotkacha’s standard was a vulture,
and his enchanted horses were capable
of flying through the air as he commanded.
But in the desperate battle, there was no time
for appreciation. There was only
confusion, fear, anger, mad excitement
and savage joy as arrows or spears sank home
and enemies fell, wounded, dead or dying.”
Countless heroes engaged in single combat—
Bhima inflicted wounds on Vivinshati;
Shakuni felled Sahadeva’s charioteer;
Shikhandin, adept at all types of weapon,
pierced Bhurishravas with ninety shafts,
causing him to tremble and retreat.
Shalya hit his nephew Nakula,
smiling as if it were a joke. Nakula,
furious, shot Shalya’s bow out of his hand.
Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s heroic son,
alight with zeal, fought like one inspired,
leaping from ground to chariot and back
like a gymnast, wielding bow and sword.
Shalya fought with Bhima. They resembled
two massive elephants, circling each other,
each with a hefty mace. Sparks flew up
as their weapons clashed like thunderbolts.
They hit each other simultaneously
and both were stunned. Then Kritavarman hauled
Shalya into his chariot and drove him off.
At the sight of this retreat, the Kauravas
felt despondent—and indeed, the tide
was turning in favor of the Pandavas.
Drona made more than one attempt to reach
Yudhishthira, but he was beaten back
and hit with many arrows. Then, in rage,
he advanced toward Yudhishthira’s chariot
looking like all-destroying Death himself.
All the Pandavas who saw him coming
cried in alarm, “Yudhishthira is lost!”
But Arjuna, seeming to spring from nowhere,
killing men by the hundred as he came,
covered Drona’s troops with a shower of arrows
so dense, the sky turned black. And in due time
the sun itself was setting. Drona ordered
withdrawal for the night.
He was cast down.
He had fought hard, had inflicted damage,
forcing an opening through the Pandavas,
yet he had been unable to deliver
Yudhishthira as Duryodhana had asked.
He knew the prince was likely to suspect him
of lacking determination. “I told you,”
said Drona, “that to take Yudhishthira
would be impossible with Arjuna by.
Tomorrow, if Arjuna can be distracted,
I’ll lay hold of Yudhishthira—you’ll see.”
The Trigartas, who hated Arjuna
for past humiliations, volunteered
to challenge him to combat at a place
a little distance off. They were five brothers,
brave kshatriyas and skillful fighters,
whose frequent and abundant gifts to brahmins
assured them of good fortune in the field
or, if not, in the afterlife. They led
a strong alliance—brave, committed forces.
Priests presided over a consecration
and the Trigartas swore a solemn vow
to conquer, or to die in the attempt.
“Arjuna will never refuse a challenge.
If we retreat, may we share the fate
of the most heinous sinners in the world.
Let the earth be rid of Arjuna,
or let it see the death of the Trigartas!”
Sanjaya continued:
As they had predicted, Arjuna
was fired up by the prospect of the fight.
Yudhishthira was worried, but Arjuna
assured him that Satyajit, Drupada’s son,
would surround him with a large defensive force.
“But if Satyajit should be killed in battle,
then you should quit the field immediately.”
Then, with a picked band of champion fighters,
Arjuna rode out after the Trigartas
like a hungry lion, avid for the kill.
Sighting him, the Trigartas raised a cry,
exultant and threatening. Arjuna smiled.
“Listen to them,” he said to dark-skinned Krishna,
“shouting with joy when they should be terrified.
But, after all, perhaps they should be joyful,
bound for a place where no fool can pester them.”
Though the Trigartas and their men were full
of resolution, at the dreadful sound
of Devadatta, Arjuna’s conch, they froze
as if in thrall, deprived of all volition.
Recovering, they loosed a rain of arrows
which Arjuna intercepted in mid-flight.
There followed a tremendous battle. Krishna
drove the chariot swiftly, skillfully,
and wherever Arjuna advanced,
hundreds died. At the same time, the Trigartas
unleashed such a punishing storm of arrows
that Krishna and Arjuna could hardly see
and were wounded countless times. The Trigartas,
counting on victory, were overjoyed,
cheering, waving their garments in the air.
But Arjuna employed the Tvashtri weapon
to create illusion, so Trigartas
fought Trigartas thinking they were killing
Arjuna. Men, mounted or on foot,
scattered like rats fleeing a hungry hound.
But the Trigartas were not beaten yet.
In fury, they kept fighting back, releasing
torrents of arrows and razor-edged spears.
Then, with broad-headed shafts, Arjuna
dispatched thousands of the enemy,
slicing off their helmeted heads, their hands
still grasping weapons. Billowing clouds of dust
stirred up by the frenzy of the battle
were turned to mud by copious showers of blood
spilled by Arjuna. So terrifying
was his assault on the Trigarta troops
that at one point they started to retreat
in fear, until their king exhorted them:
“Are you deathless heroes—or are you cowards?
Have you not sworn to conquer or to die?
Return! Redeem your pledge, no matter what!”
So it was that the Trigartas fought
on and on, until the land was littered
with mutilated bodies, dead and dying
jumbled one on another. The air rang
with a cacophony of groans and cries.
The blood-soaked earth resembled a broad field
of poppies, stretching out in all directions.
Anxious for Yudhishthira, Arjuna
and Krishna turned toward the main battle.
There, Drona, bent on seizing Yudhishthira,
led his men in an eagle formation—
the wings outstretched, the back made up of hosts
of foot soldiers, chariots, elephants.
At the tail rode Karna, tall, magnificent,
leading his troops, allies, friends and kinsmen.
Kings, warriors, were glorious in the sun,
their banners flying, armor flashing light;
some rode high on mountainous elephants.
The entire army was in fighting fettle,
mad with lust for blood and victory.
Seeing them advance like a tidal wave,
knowing their whole intent was to capture him,
Yudhishthira turned to Dhrishtadyumna. “Friend,
you should do whatever is necessary
to prevent my being taken prisoner.”
Drupada’s son reassured him. At once
he shouted to his charioteer to gallop
straight for Drona. The teacher’s heart quaked,
knowing that Dhrishtadyumna would bring his death.
But one of your valiant sons, Durmukha,
rushed to his defense, and fought so fiercely
with Dhrishtadyumna that Drona got away
and began to slaughter the Pandava army
in huge numbers. Soon any resemblance
to two disciplined forces disappeared.
Each man lashed out wildly, with no regard
for battle etiquette or decency.
To spectators looking down on them
the scene was like the panic-stricken stampede
of cattle when a tiger comes among them,
trampling each other in blind desperation
to survive.
Sighting Yudhishthira,
Drona made toward him, but at once
a warning cry rose from a thousand throats
as the Pandava forces saw the danger.
Satyajit, as he had promised Arjuna,
loosed a powerful weapon spiked with venom.
Drona’s charioteer fell senseless. Next,
the horses were attacked, and Satyajit,
circling Drona, cut down his fine standard.
Drona resolved that this would be the last
battle for Satyajit, and though that hero
fought courageously and skillfully,
at last his head was severed from his shoulders,
earrings flashing as it fell to earth.
Then Yudhishthira turned his chariot
drawn by superb horses, and retreated.
Drona focused on the Panchalas.
He and his forces set about destroying
everything in their path. As a thunderstorm
pelts the helpless earth with vicious hailstones
so he assaulted the Panchala divisions.
Seeing it, Duryodhana laughed with joy
and said to Karna, “Look at the devastation
our forces are inflicting on the allies
of the Pandavas—falling by the thousand!
They can never recover after this.”
Karna was less confident. “The Pandavas
will not collapse so easily. Look there—
Bhima is surrounded by our warriors.
It may look hopeless, but with his huge strength
he has killed hundreds of our men already.
You can be sure that he is remembering
the wrongs he and his family have suffered
because of us—Ekachakra . . . Draupadi . . .
We should provide Drona with reinforcements.”
Duryodhana clashed with Bhima, each leading
an elephant division, the animals
splendidly decked out, their curving tusks
filed to cruel points. Huge as hills, cheeks trickling
with juices, the Kaurava beasts were quickly
mangled by Bhima’s arrows, and swerved away,
spurting blood. Then Duryodhana struck Bhima,
and Wolf-belly, eyes glowing red with rage,
released a shower of arrows in return,
hoping to send his cousin to Yama’s realm.
Bhagadatta, King of Pragjyotisha,
long-standing ally of Duryodhana,
renowned elephant warrior, joined the fight.
He advanced on Bhima riding his elephant,
a battle-hardened monster of great cunning,
rolling its eyes, eager for the kill.
Bhima was, by this time, on the ground
and, rather than trying to escape, he ran
under the beast’s body, and began
to slap it with fierce blows, which made the creature
turn like a wheel to face the Kauravas,
menacing his own side, mad with musth.
As he emerged, Bhima was nearly strangled
by the elephant’s trunk, but wrestled loose
and ran away to safety.
Bhagadatta
then began to attack Yudhishthira.
High on his elephant, he was besieged
by Pandava forces, blasted by an onslaught
of well-aimed arrows. But his elephant
trampled hundreds of horses and infantry,
and he broke free. Just as the scorching sun
sheds its rays on everything around,
so Bhagadatta, on his monstrous mount,
sprayed lethal arrows on his enemies.
Terror spread among the Pandavas
and they scattered. No one could withstand
this champion of elephants and his master,
the best elephant warrior in the world—
except Arjuna.
It had struck Karna
and Duryodhana that the son of Kunti,
faced with the choice between Bhagadatta
and the Trigartas, would very likely choose
the latter—the men who had challenged him.
Now, as Arjuna and Krishna traveled
to rejoin the main battle, they heard, far off,
distinctive sounds, and guessed that Bhagadatta
and his elephant were wreaking havoc.
But Arjuna was torn. He heard behind him
the thundering hooves of the Trigarta horses—
the survivors, pursuing him to the end.
He turned and, concentrating on the mantra,
he unleashed the deadly Brahma weapon,
filling the air above the pursuing troops
with white-hot arrows, trailing flashing fire,
annihilating hundreds, like men of straw.
Even the solid block of infantry
cracked apart like an overheated vessel
faced with his unearthly energy.
Krishna raised his hands in admiration.
“Quick! Drive to Bhagadatta,” cried Arjuna.
The encounter between Bhagadatta
and Arjuna was fierce in the extreme.
Bhagadatta had a height advantage
and could rain down arrows by the hundred.
But Arjuna deflected them. Krishna whirled
the chariot round to the rear of Bhagadatta
where Arjuna could have killed him easily,
but the Pandava held back, respecting
the rules of fair fight.
Bitter and prolonged
was the struggle between those fine warriors,
with many wounds inflicted on both sides,
and many deadly darts and spears deflected.
Hard pressed and desperate, Bhagadatta hurled
straight at Arjuna’s chest an iron hook
charged with the celestial Vaishnava mantra.
Krishna swiftly stepped in front of his friend
and the weapon, striking him instead,
turned into a garland of lovely flowers,
blue lotuses, glowing with tongues of flame.
Arjuna complained, “You should keep your word
and drive the chariot. I can defend myself.”
But Krishna told him Bhagadatta’s weapon
could not be survived by anyone but him.
Arjuna raised his bow and, with great force,
struck the forehead of the elephant
with a long, thick arrow. As lightning
can split a mountain, so the arrow drove
deep into its head. Though Bhagadatta
urged it on, the beast fell, paralyzed
and, trumpeting its last cry of distress,
it died. Quickly, Arjuna let loose
a crescent-headed spear at Bhagadatta.
Arrows and bow fell from the king’s hands.
His world became a mesh of darkness, heart
skewered by Arjuna’s unerring weapon,
and the celebrated warrior, wreathed in gold,
slid from the elephant, his gorgeous headdress
unraveling as he plummeted to earth.
With the death of mighty Bhagadatta
the Kauravas, in anger and dismay,
thirsted for revenge against Arjuna.
Two of Gandhari’s brothers, skilled archers
standing side by side in their chariot,
let fly shaft after shaft. But very quickly
Arjuna pierced them with a single arrow
and, as one body, they fell to the ground.
Then their brother Shakuni, the gambler,
took on Arjuna by means of sorcery.
Spiked clubs, iron balls, daggers, tridents, spears,
rocks, scimitars and snake-headed shafts
began to fall on Arjuna and Krishna.
Hordes of wild and hungry animals
appeared all around them, baying and snarling.
Laughing, Arjuna countered all of this
by wielding well-chosen celestial weapons.
Next a thick and choking fog engulfed them
and, after that, huge waves of foaming water
which Arjuna dispelled. Then Shakuni,
seeing that his tricks were ineffective,
fled the battlefield like a craven coward.
With Gandiva, Arjuna released
his arrows like a humming flight of locusts
and each one found its mark in man or beast.
Panic surged through the Kaurava divisions
as fighters, desperate to save themselves,
abandoned kin and comrade, left their horses
and trampled on the wounded as they ran.
“Help, Lord help me!” Everywhere were heard
cries of the dying, untended and alone.
Meanwhile, to the south, Drona was leading
a furious assault on the Pandava force
led by Dhrishtadyumna. Extensive damage
was sustained by both sides, and the Pandavas
lost Nila, one of their greatest bowmen.
Karna fought with Satyaki, a duel
that ended with each wounded, but intact.
Arjuna and Krishna joined them, killing
three of Karna’s brothers. So it went—
an ecstasy of violence and rage,
until night fell, and the two sides withdrew.
On the whole, it seemed the Kauravas
had come off worst from the day’s events.