38.
Sanjaya continued:
Morning broke over the dismal plain.
From the vast carnage of the days before,
the jumbled bodies, limbs and carcasses,
too numerous now to be attended to,
littered the field as far as the eye could see.
Reviewing the events of the previous day,
Duryodhana concealed his boiling rage
as he addressed Drona before the troops.
“Drona,” he said, “you made me a promise
which, it seems, you conveniently forgot,
since you failed to seize Yudhishthira.
He was within your grasp; you did not grasp him.
I am wondering whose side you support.”
Despite the fact that he had made every effort,
Drona was ashamed. “I promise you:
before the sun sinks on another day
I will put in place a battle formation
so large, so tight, so intricately designed
that no man will escape—a trap for heroes!
And I swear to kill a prominent warrior
from among the Pandavas. But, once again,
you have to entice Arjuna away
from the main action. He is invincible.”
That thirteenth morning, there was no eagerness
for what was coming. For the weary troops,
despite brave words and boastful declarations,
endurance was the order of the day,
not confidence.
The hot-blooded Trigartas,
as had been planned, challenged Arjuna
to fight them in the southern part of the field.
Drona directed ten thousand of his men
into the wheel formation, a rotating,
winding, circular shape, impossible
to penetrate, save by a very few.
This was a hand-picked and experienced force
who had solemnly sworn never to break ranks.
They had smeared themselves with sandal paste
and, terrible to see, all wore red robes
with gold ornaments, and scarlet banners.
Ten thousand trained, courageous warriors,
yet they advanced as one, shoulder to shoulder,
shields edge to edge, standards overlapping—
a sight to strike fear in all who witnessed it.
At the front rode Drona, and behind him
were proud Jayadratha with Ashvatthaman.
Duryodhana, shaded by his parasol,
was flanked by his greatest chariot warriors—
Karna, Kripa, Duhshasana among them.
The Pandavas met Drona’s force head on.
A fierce battle followed, with many hundreds
massacred or wounded mortally.
The wheel was unassailable, and from it
a storm of missiles rained on the Pandavas
who could make no headway, but instead
time and again took dreadful punishment.
Yudhishthira drew Abhimanyu aside.
He was still a boy, but in accomplishment
and in beauty he rivaled his great father.
All the virtues, all the martial skills
of the five sons of Pandu, and of Krishna,
were united in him. Abhimanyu
was admired and loved by all who knew him.
Yudhishthira addressed him. “With your father
engaged elsewhere, you are the only one
who knows how to break into the wheel.
Child, for the sake of all of us you must try
to penetrate what Drona has constructed
or else, when Arjuna returns, he’ll blame us.”
Abhimanyu was fired up with zeal.
“Today, the world will witness my great feats;
I shall slaughter all who challenge me
or I’ll not call myself Arjuna’s son!
Only—my father taught me how to enter
the wheel, but not how to come out again.”
“Once you have broken in,” said Yudhishthira,
“you will force a path for us to follow.
Never fear, we shall be close behind you
and we can smash it open from within.”
“Then,” said Abhimanyu, “I will fly
like a mad moth into a searing fire!”
Hearing what Abhimanyu had in mind,
his charioteer was woebegone, fearful
that the task was far too dangerous.
“You have scant experience of war;
Drona with all his skill will surely crush you.”
But Abhimanyu, full of cheerfulness,
said, “Oh, Sumitra! It will be glorious!
Who is Drona? Is he omnipotent?
Even if I were to face my father
or my uncle on the battlefield
I should not be afraid. Now, driver—drive!”
Thus Abhimanyu, dressed in flashing armor,
tall and beautiful as a flowering tree,
standard flying over his splendid chariot,
urged his driver on. The Kauravas
rejoiced to see him coming to the trap.
The Pandavas followed closely in his wake.
Mocking catcalls, whistles, ululations
reached him from the jeering Kauravas
but Abhimanyu was the first to strike
hard and precisely, like a human scythe
shearing a field of grass. First, he lopped off
arms by the hundred still grasping spears and bows.
Then Kaurava heads were rolling on the ground
surprised by death, fine turbans still intact
adorned with precious jewels. Single-handed,
the boy brought chaos to his adversaries.
Duryodhana advanced to engage with him.
At once, at Drona’s urging, the best warriors
moved forward to protect your noble son,
courageous as he was, and Abhimanyu
was forced to back off, roaring like a lion
whose prey has been denied him. Savagely,
he hurtled through your son’s brigades, dispatching
countless men with his swift-flying arrows,
feats so dazzling that even the Kauravas
shouted in admiration.
Fighting free
of this initial skirmish, Abhimanyu
managed to break open the wheel formation
and entered. At once, he was surrounded.
The Pandavas were following hard behind
but, before they could enter, they were blocked
by Jayadratha. Violent and rapacious,
the powerful king of Sindhu had long harbored
bitter hatred toward the Pandavas,
ever since Bhima had prevented him
from abducting Draupadi in the forest,
and savagely humiliated him.
After he had engaged in austerities
great lord Shiva had granted him a boon—
that at the crucial time he would have the power
to hold in check the might of the Pandavas.
Now, that time had come. The Pandavas,
try as they might, could not penetrate the wheel.
Jayadratha held them off with ease,
smashing their weapons in their helpless hands.
Soon, the route by which Abhimanyu entered
closed again, as elephants, troops and chariots
rearranged themselves. The young prince stood
quite alone, surrounded, unprotected
before the legions of the Kauravas.
O majesty, what followed will be sung
as deathless legend, generations hence.
The young hero gathered his resources
and demonstrated his unearthly skill
and courage. Many great Kaurava warriors,
the best there were, died at his hands that day.
Beautiful as a flame in a dark place,
it was as if this were a delightful game.
A kind of joyful calm pervaded him.
He crowed in exultation as he aimed
unfailingly with arrows and with spear,
with sword and mace—with every kind of weapon,
earthly and celestial.
He received
many painful wounds, and still he fought,
inflicting thousands more on his opponents.
He fought like a young god, and all who saw him
would remember it to their dying day.
Drona rejoiced that his favorite pupil
had passed on all his prowess to his son.
He killed Karna’s brother, and he slew
Lakshmana, Duryodhana’s cherished son.
He caused many strong, courageous fighters
to fall back. Wave after wave of warriors
rushed at him; and he repulsed them all,
slicing off hands, arms, ears, so that the ground
was an altar sluiced with sacrificial blood.
And yet, because of his respect for kindred,
Abhimanyu battled with restraint;
as Drona remarked, he often chose to wound
rather than kill. “Ah,” sneered Duryodhana,
“our Drona has a soft spot for the princeling;
if he wanted, he could finish him,
master that he is; yet he does not do it.”
For hours, Abhimanyu appeared tireless.
Although the Pandavas could not reach him,
they saw his amazing deeds and cheered him on
until the dust of battle hid him from them.
How could it not end in tragedy
when no help was at hand for Abhimanyu?
One by one, his weapons were destroyed,
his bow broken, his chariot smashed, his spear
splintered. Finally he fought on foot,
only a mace to defend himself, for now
he was the target more than the attacker.
As cowardly wolves prefer to hunt in packs,
six of the most powerful Kauravas—
Drona, Karna, Kripa, Kritavarman,
Ashvatthaman and Duhshasana’s son—
set upon the exhausted Abhimanyu.
These were great warriors; they knew full well
that a mob attack on a lone opponent
was contrary to dharma. Yet they did it.
Duhshasana’s son delivered the final blow
with a mace, smashing the young hero’s head
as, already down, he tried to rise.
Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s best beloved,
beautiful in death as he was in life,
fell to earth, and did not move again.
It was as though the full and luminous moon
had fallen from the sky to the black earth.
The Kauravas, a much depleted army,
whooped with delirious joy.
It was dusk.
The last fiery filaments of the sun
streaked the sky over the western hill.
The warriors surveyed the devastation,
the battlefield resembling a sacked city.
Scavengers were gathering already
to feast on the abundant human flesh:
crows and ravens, jackals, kanka birds
ripping at the frail skin of the fallen
to drink their fat, lick marrow from their bones,
guzzle their blood.
These were fallen comrades,
brothers, sons, fathers reduced to this
welter of mere matter, food for birds.
Unable to perform the proper rites,
the living felt defiled, grief unresolved.
The somber troops slouched silently to their tents.
The Pandavas were overwhelmed with sorrow
for Abhimanyu. Yudhishthira could see
that his men had lost all zest for battle.
“We must not grieve,” he told them, “we should rather
follow Abhimanyu’s great example.
Today, he slaughtered countless Kauravas.
That hero is in heaven; if we stand firm,
we shall defeat our enemies for sure.”
But privately, Yudhishthira was crushed
by grief for his brave and beloved nephew.
He sat in his tent, weeping bitter tears,
blaming himself entirely. “Oh, Abhimanyu!
It was for me that you risked everything.
For me you battled with such bravery.
Eager for victory, I urged you on.
How shall I face Arjuna? How will Subhadra
bear to live without her precious son?
And Krishna—how will he find consolation
now that his nephew, little more than a child,
has left the earth?”
At this point, Vyasa
appeared, to give comfort. For Yudhishthira
in the face of this catastrophe,
it was as if the fact of death had struck him
for the first time. “What does it mean,” he said,
that men are born, are nourished by their mothers,
nurtured with care, have rich experience,
learn the ways of human intercourse,
love, create, take pleasure in the world,
acquire a warrior’s skills, respect dharma—
what does it mean that such men can ride out
in the morning, courageous, full of hope,
and by evening are mere carrion
for crows to feast on? Why? What is death?”
“Death takes everything that lives,” said Vyasa,
“there is no exception.” And he told
the story of the lady Death herself,
and how Brahma, creator of the worlds,
sent her out to achieve his purposes,
so his created worlds would not become
overburdened. “For creatures—even for gods—
death is part of life, that is the law,
and everything that lives carries the germ
of its own destruction. Understanding this,
a wise person does not grieve, Yudhishthira.”
Yudhishthira took comfort from this story,
and Vyasa told him many other tales
of kings whose sons were taken away by Death.
Vyasa said to him, “Abhimanyu
lived his life fully, although he was so young.
He will be in heaven; and those who taste heaven
never prefer this world to that bliss.”
Arjuna had won a splendid victory
over the forces that had sworn to kill him,
but at nightfall, riding back with Krishna,
he was seized with a dreadful premonition.
The camp was silent; no one greeted them.
He had heard of Drona’s wheel deployment
and, knowing that Abhimanyu had not learned
how to exit it, he hoped and prayed
that his brave son had not been entrapped.
On every side, he noticed ashen faces.
Hearing the truth, he thought he would die of grief.
He sank down, sighing, face awash with tears.
“Krishna, Subhadra will not survive this news.
Oh, my beloved boy, I remember
how I and your mother held you in our arms.
My glorious son, the joy of all who knew you,
witty, courageous, generous and kind—
if I will never see your face again
how can I live? In that dreadful wheel,
standing alone, you must have thought that soon
your father would arrive to rescue you.
But no, you would have focused on the fight
and nothing else—a hero to the end.”
Arjuna was gripped by deep despair.
Krishna gently spoke to him. “My friend,
bear this with fortitude. You are not the first,
nor will you be the last to lose a loved one.
Abhimanyu has gone to the realm for those
who meet death courageously in battle,
with a cheerful heart. We are warriors;
for us, this is how it has always been.”
“How did it happen?” asked Arjuna, grim-faced.
“Tell me exactly. How could Abhimanyu
die with my great brothers to protect him?
Sons of Pandu, sons of Drupada,
what were you doing!? Do you carry weapons
merely as ornaments? Did you cowards watch
while my brave boy fought overwhelming odds?”
When he heard the facts, grief turned to rage
at wicked Jayadratha. He swore an oath:
“Before darkness falls tomorrow night,
I will cut off Jayadratha’s head,
unless he comes and begs on his knees for mercy.
If I do not, may I never enter heaven,
but may I meet the hideous fate of those
who kill their parents, who cuckold their teachers,
defile women, betray the innocent trust
of those who depend on them. If I do not,
if, tomorrow night, Jayadratha
still struts the earth, breathing our common air,
I shall enter a blazing fire and die!”
In the opposing camp, the Kauravas
picked up a chilling sound on the night breeze,
faint at first, then swelling ever louder,
a sound to shake the world to its foundations:
Devadatta, Arjuna’s great conch,
sounding out a challenge and a threat,
followed by furious shouts from the Pandavas.
Jayadratha knew it was meant for him.
Gripped by fear, he had a sense that death
was rushing to meet him. “Ah! What can I do?
Shall I escape at once, fly home to Sindhu?”
“Take heart, calm your fear,” said Duryodhana.
“Who could harm you, when you will be surrounded
by our bravest, most accomplished warriors?
And you yourself are a tiger among fighters.”
His spies had told him about Arjuna’s oath
and, craftily, he thought if Jayadratha
could be protected until the sun went down
Arjuna would fail and, bound by honor,
he would have to immolate himself.
Slightly reassured, Jayadratha
went to Drona’s tent, and knelt before him.
“Master, will you tell me Arjuna’s secret,
how his arrows fly so fast, so far, so deep?”
“Son,” said Drona, “Arjuna’s skill has been
honed in the crucible of suffering.
No one can defeat him. But take heart,
I will protect you. You should fight tomorrow;
be true, follow your kshatriya dharma.”
Through spies, the Pandavas were given news
of the elaborate arrangments planned
to guard the Sindhu king. Krishna, concerned,
wished that Arjuna had been less hasty
in uttering his vow. But the Terrifier
was scornful. “I assure you, Jayadratha
is already on his way to Yama’s realm.
Tomorrow, he and his ill-fated friends
will have cause bitterly to regret the day
they wallowed in the sin of child murder!”
At Arjuna’s request, Krishna visited
Abhimanyu’s mother, Krishna’s sister,
who was with Draupadi and Uttaraa,
the young hero’s even younger wife.
Krishna told them of Abhimanyu’s feats,
assuring them he was certainly in heaven.
“Alas!” cried Subhadra, “O my child,
my beautiful one, deserving of the best
this earth can give, how can you be sleeping
now on the cold ground, your lovely body
punctured by arrows! O son, O sinless one,
this world is desolate without you in it!
My little boy, my arms ache to hold you,
I long for the smell of your skin, your hair.
Oh, I am hungry for the sight of you.
That you could die with Krishna to protect you
is proof of fate’s unfathomable ways.”
Uttaraa and Draupadi, Abhimanyu’s
second mother, paced wildly in their grief,
weeping without cease, inconsolable.
Krishna told them of Arjuna’s vow, and how
Abhimanyu’s death would be avenged,
but still they wept; the most extreme vengeance
could not restore to them their beloved boy.
Krishna returned to camp in sorrow. That night
no one slept well. They thought of tomorrow
and what had to be done to bring success.
What if Arjuna should fail? What then?
What if he were killed? How could Yudhishthira
pursue this war without him? What would he do?
Throughout the Pandava army, every man
prayed that Arjuna’s mission would succeed.
Before he retired to rest, long-haired Krishna
walked out onto a small rise in the land
and sprinkled it with water. Immediately
lush grass covered it, and fresh-sprung flowers.
He laid out objects for the night offering
to the gods, and Arjuna came to join him.
Learned priests consecrated the Pandava
and Arjuna felt his heart become lighter.
He hung fragrant garlands round Krishna’s neck
and gave him the ritual night-offering.
At the darkest hour, Krishna left his tent
and sought out Daruka, his charioteer.
“Tomorrow, we have the greatest challenge yet.
Arjuna swore this oath impulsively
without consulting me. I fear the worst.
Even the son of Kunti cannot kill
a man whom Drona has promised to protect.
Duryodhana will summon every means
to thwart Arjuna’s intentions. I want you
to bring my chariot and all my weapons
and follow us, so I can support him
if things go wrong. Oh, Daruka, Arjuna
is more dear to me than all the world.
I could not bear this life if he were dead.”
Restless on his bed, Arjuna wondered
how he would be able to keep his vow
if Jayadratha skulked behind a stockade
of chariots assembled by the Kauravas.
He slept at last, a sleep riven by nightmares.
Then he dreamed Krishna came to comfort him
and told him not to despair. “All that exists
rests in the lap of time. Despair is the foe
that robs you of the energy to act.
You must obtain the weapon, Pashupata,
from Lord Shiva. Fasten your mind’s eye
on him. When you have found him, be silent.
Then honor him, devote yourself to him
and, by his grace, he will give you Pashupata.”
Arjuna sat down in meditation
and it seemed he was traveling through the sky
with Krishna, over beautiful terrain,
over the snowy slopes of Himavat,
over the remotest mountain regions,
over the pleasure gardens of Kubera,
over groves where apsarases played.
They paused on a mountain peak to view the earth
shimmering gold beneath them, with its cities
and lakes scattered like the loveliest flowers.
At last, they reached the home of Lord Shiva.
The god was sitting, huge and awe-inspiring,
glowing with his own fire, trident in hand.
Parvati, his wife, was by his side.
Arjuna and Krishna bowed before him
and sang a hymn of praise, “O Lord Shiva,
to you who are the soul of the universe;
to you the unconquered, the all-merciful;
to you who have a thousand thousand eyes;
to you whose name is Death, lord of creatures,
all-powerful, and all-compassionate,
we join our hands in homage and devotion.”
“Welcome, Nara and Narayana,”
said the god, smiling. “Tell me what you desire
and I will grant it.” Arjuna looked deeply
into the flame that is the mighty god
and saw there the ritual night-offering
he had given Krishna earlier.
Shiva granted them the powerful weapon,
showed them where to find it, and how to use it.
Thus, for the second time, the son of Kunti
received the terrifying Pashupata.
Joyfully, the heroes worshiped Shiva
and returned to earth, and blissful sleep.