39.
“Tell me, Sanjaya,” said Dhritarashtra,
“after they had slaughtered Abhimanyu
so contrary to dharma, so unfairly,
how could our warriors hold up their heads?
And when they heard the great conch Devadatta,
how could they march out to face Arjuna,
grim as all-destroying Death himself?
I fear what you will tell me. Oh, my friend,
I wish we had made peace with the Pandavas.
If only we had taken heed when Krishna
came as their envoy. But Duryodhana
was foolish and stubborn, and this holocaust
is the result.”
“You should blame yourself,”
said Sanjaya. “You had a hundred chances
to guide your son with a restraining hand.
You pandered to his greed—your lamentations
are like the hollow clank of empty vessels,
and come too late. What is done is done.
If you had set your son on the right path,
if you had heeded wiser heads than yours,
this disaster never would have happened.
O king, prepare yourself—your misery
has only just begun. Now I shall tell you
what happened on the fourteenth day of war.”
Arjuna woke refreshed and confident.
He took his bath and performed his devotions.
Yudhishthira was woken by the sound
of his musicians welcoming the dawn.
After his morning rituals were over
he held a meeting of his greatest warriors.
Turning to Krishna in deep respect, he begged
that he would do all he could for Arjuna.
Krishna reassured him. “Arjuna
will certainly fulfill his vow this day.”
Arjuna, worried for Yudhishthira,
asked Satyaki, that undefeated warrior,
to make all efforts to protect the king.
Everything that could be done was done:
horses fed and harnessed, the chariots
and weapons checked and blessed, well-fitting armor
carefully tied on. Last, the great standard
bearing the emblem of the divine monkey
was fixed in its socket. With a last embrace
between the brothers, the fighting day began,
a day of make or break, a day of truth.
The blare of conches, the relentless beat
of numberless war drums struck the Kauravas
like a summons to eternity.
More than any of them, Jayadratha
was trembling with terror and dismay.
But as Drona laid out his battle plan,
and as he blew his conch with confidence,
the Sindhu king started to take heart.
Drona had mobilized his divisions
into a complex wheeled cart formation;
behind it, an impenetrable lotus
and, inside that, a strong needle array.
All these forces, well trained and determined,
stood between Jayadratha and his fate.
Arjuna, at the vanguard of his army,
where the densest arrow showers would fall,
was imposing—tall, muscular and graceful,
with shining eyes. Driven by dark-skinned Krishna,
he stood high on his gleaming chariot
upright, his black hair streaming out behind him.
His armor glittered. He was garlanded,
and on his head was the dazzling diadem
given to him by his father, Indra.
His jeweled earrings sparkled in the sun.
Relaxed, alert, he grasped his bow Gandiva,
while, above him, the great ape on his standard
bared its teeth and snarled at the enemy.
Battle began. Arjuna’s whole effort
must be to penetrate the Kaurava force
to reach Jayadratha. He told Krishna
to drive at your son Durmashana, the prince
positioned in the vanguard of your army.
The onslaught was devastating, and broke up
the front ranks of the Kauravas, who fled
under the fury of his attack. Heads
by the hundred were severed in a flash
of well-aimed arrows, and tumbled to the ground
like heavy fruit, while, for a short moment,
headless trunks fought on before they fell.
Duhshasana’s strong elephant division
joined the battle then, but did no better
and retreated, bristling with arrows.
Now, Arjuna formally approached Drona.
He joined his hands in respect. “Master,” he said,
“as your pupil, I claim your protection.
Look upon me as if I were your son.
Allow me to put the Sindhu king to death
as he deserves, and as I have sworn to do.
Help me keep my word.”
Drona smiled slightly.
“If you want Jayadratha, take me first!”
and he pelted Arjuna with arrows,
wounding his horses, severing his bowstring.
Arjuna fought back, volley for volley,
weapon for weapon, white horses against red.
This was a contest between the most skilled warriors,
a demonstration of most dazzling prowess.
But as the sun climbed higher in the sky,
Krishna urged Arjuna to leave the duel
and keep his mind fixed on the main objective.
“What?” cried Drona, “Are you giving up
on an opponent who is not yet beaten?”
“You are not my opponent,” said Arjuna,
turning away from him, “but my dear master.”
Mounting an assault on Drona’s forces,
Arjuna released a thousand arrows
in the time a normal fighter would fire ten.
Kauravas fell by the hundred. Pandavas
also suffered losses. And Arjuna
was knocked senseless by a well-aimed lance
flung by Shrutayus. Quickly recovering,
he invoked the Shakra weapon, which spewed out
many thousands of straight and speedy arrows,
and the Kauravas were washed glistening red
as bloody fountains sprang from elephants,
horses and men, splashing to the ground.
Gaining, yard by yard, Krishna drove forward
until at last they broke through Drona’s lines
and shattered the well-planned lotus formation
as the Kauravas scattered in disarray.
Horrified, Duryodhana rushed over
to where Drona stood. “It’s a disaster!
Arjuna is scorching our infantry
like a raging fire consuming tinder.
It is as if my troops were feeble children!
How long have you eaten at my table?
I have pampered you in every way,
yet I know your heart is with the Pandavas—
I was a fool to trust you!” Drona sighed.
He was expecting this; Duryodhana
could not bear things not to go his way
and had to find somewhere to pin the blame.
The tantrum soon passed. “Forgive me, Drona—
put it down to rage and disappointment.
We must at all costs guard Jayadratha.
What hinders you?”
“It’s the sheer speed,” said Drona.
“Those horses are the finest in the world,
and Krishna drives with supernatural skill,
swerving, dodging through the smallest gaps.
I am not young, pace is not my strength.
I propose that you protect Jayadratha,
block the Pandava from getting near him,
while I attempt to seize Yudhishthira.”
“But how can I do that,” groaned Duryodhana,
“when even you have failed? The gods themselves
couldn’t stop him.”
“I have a solution,”
said Drona; and he gave Duryodhana
a gleaming, finely wrought golden breastplate
and fastened it on, chanting secret mantras,
tying it with sacred Brahma strings.
Pausing only to receive Drona’s blessings,
Duryodhana, restored to confidence
and followed by the hosts of the Trigartas,
set out to do battle with Arjuna.
Bent on capturing Yudhishthira,
Drona turned to the front of the array
where he sought to hold back Dhrishtadyumna,
advancing at the head of a vast force.
Drupada’s son aimed to divide and conquer.
Drona tried to stop him, but repeatedly
the Kauravas were split in three. One part
gravitated toward Kritavarman,
hotly harassed by Yudhishthira;
another coalesced round Jalasandha,
chased by mace-wielding Bhima; while a third,
harried by the brilliant Dhrishtadyumna,
gathered around Drona. Fighting was fierce;
shafts of sunlight struggling through clouds of dust
made seeing difficult, but showers of arrows,
loosed with no special target, found a mark
in man and beast alike.
Dhrishtadyumna
urged his charioteer, “Quickly! Approach
Drona, that boastful warrior, that great teacher,
that brahmin traitor to his natural calling!”
Then the two accomplished fighters clashed.
It was a spectacle—all around them
other fighting stopped, so men could watch
the consummate display of archery,
the two well matched, making little headway
against each other. Then Drishtadyumna
rashly leapt up onto Drona’s chariot,
poised on the backs of his rust-red horses
to fight him hand to hand. It was a feat
to remember. But Drona knocked away
his sword, wounding him in many places
and, if Satyaki had not rescued him,
and himself taken on the fight with Drona,
it could have been the end for Dhrishtadyumna.
Satyaki and Drona fought like gods—
fiercely, but with finesse and self-possession.
The sky grew overcast as clouds of arrows
blotted out the sun, and soon they both
ran with blood. Each hoped for victory,
and other warriors stood around, watching,
gripped by such astounding mastery.
(At heart, Drona, too, applauded Satyaki,
noting that he had learned from Arjuna
skills Drona himself had taught the Pandava.)
Both were masters of celestial weapons,
and each of them could neutralize the other.
Neither won. Eventually, Yudhishthira
called his troops to arms, and general battle
was resumed.
Now the white sun had started
on its inexorable downward course
toward the outline of the Asta hills.
Krishna and Arjuna, with their divisions,
forced a passage through the Kaurava ranks,
their sights set steadfastly on Jayadratha.
Arjuna, with his limitless supply
of iron-tipped arrows, inflicted dreadful harm,
but the Kauravas had too much at stake
to slacken their resolve.
So did Arjuna.
The going was hard. The chariot maintained
enormous speed, and still the Terrifier
was killing men a league ahead of him.
No chariot had moved as fast before.
It moved with the speed of imagination,
the speed of thought, the speed of rapt desire.
But the horses were becoming tired.
Krishna was concerned. “We must unyoke them,
remove their arrows, give them time to breathe.
And they need to drink, but there is no water.”
Arjuna shot an arrow at the ground
and at once a sparkling lake appeared,
with water birds and dense, shade-giving trees.
Then he made a shelter out of arrows
and, while he held back the Kauravas,
Krishna led the horses under it
and calmly unyoking them from the chariot,
rubbed and stroked them with an expert touch
so they revived from their fatigue and wounds.
To unyoke horses in the midst of battle!
Such a thing had never been done before.
Seeing this, at first the Kaurava troops
roared in triumph; surely now they had him,
heroic Arjuna, on foot and alone!
But, calm and focused, the great Pandava
raked your forces with his powerful weapons.
“Just our luck!” groaned some of them. “Duryodhana
has set us up as sacrificial sheep.
He doesn’t seem to understand that no one
can defeat Arjuna. King Jayadratha
is a dead man already. Duryodhana
should make arrangements for his funeral rites.”
Now, with the horses rested, Krishna drove
furiously forward, sweeping aside
all attempts to block their headlong progress.
The two heroes shone like twin dazzling suns.
At last, they caught a glimpse of Jayadratha
with Duryodhana protecting him.
Joy seized them. Now Arjuna roared in rage
and exultation. “Even Indra himself
with all the celestials could not save him now!”
They advanced all the faster, hooves thundering,
terrible ape banner striking terror
into the heart of the cowering Sindhu king.
“Attack Duryodhana!” shouted Krishna.
“It’s time to kill that wicked ill-wisher,
that greedy villain!”
“Drive on!” cried Arjuna,
remembering his cousin’s many wrongs.
Duryodhana jeered, “Come on, son of Pandu,
fight me if you dare! Show everyone
if this great prowess people talk about
is real heroism, or empty talk!”
Arjuna took aim and loosed his arrows
at Duryodhana, who stood there, laughing
as the shafts bounced harmlessly off his armor
time after time. Krishna was astonished.
Arjuna realized: “The villain’s armor
must have been tied onto him by Drona.
But I know a mantra that will make him
vulnerable again, a powerful weapon.”
He invoked that weapon, but before
it reached Duryodhana, it was deflected
by Drona, from a distance. If Arjuna
had invoked the weapon a second time
it would have killed his own troops, and himself.
Instead, he used his ordinary skill
to kill Duryodhana’s charioteer and horses
and smash his chariot. He then shot off
your son’s leather gauntlets, and pierced his hands.
Krishna blew his conch Panchajanya,
Arjuna gave a blast on Devadatta,
and the Kaurava forces stood stupefied.
Meanwhile Drona tried again to capture
Yudhishthira, but the king was whisked away
on Sahadeva’s chariot. Alambusha
now lusted to avenge his monstrous brother.
Ghatotkacha advanced to fight with him.
He plucked him from his chariot, whirled him round
as though he were a doll, and flung him down
onto the ground where, like a brittle pot,
he was dashed to fragments.
Yudhishthira
had picked up the sound of conches blown
by Krishna and Arjuna, and he was fearful
for their safety. He spoke to Satyaki,
consumed by anxiety, tears in his eyes,
and told him to go to Arjuna’s defense.
Satyaki, fast as lightning in the field,
was slow in his reactions otherwise.
Arjuna had told him to guard his brother
and guard Yudhishthira he must. Desperate,
Yudhishthira was forced to press him hard:
“Arjuna may be in mortal danger
floundering in an ocean of Kauravas!
You, Satyaki, have always been our mainstay,
second only to Krishna in weaponry.
You must obey me.” Satyaki was perplexed
since he owed obedience to Arjuna,
his teacher, just as he did to his leader;
and Arjuna had said . . . So the conundrum
went round and round in poor Satyaki’s mind.
At last, reluctant, he agreed to go,
but only after repeating once again
Arjuna’s parting words to him; and after
assuring Yudhishthira that Arjuna
was bound to be quite safe, and did not need
rescuing by him. “And another thing,
who will protect you from Drona while I’m gone?”
Yudhishthira assured him Dhrishtadyumna
and Bhima would be constantly at his side.
“Very well, I’ll go,” said Satyaki.
“Let no one think me slow to obey orders.
I have your interests constantly before me
as I do Arjuna’s. I’ll follow him
and battle by his side until he slaughters
Jayadratha. I shall scourge the Kauravas.
Like fire, I shall certainly destroy them.
But please arrange to have the proper weapons
placed in my chariot in the correct places—
in fact, let five times as many weapons
as usual be provided.” Then Satyaki
went to his tent and took a ritual bath,
changed his clothes, drank honey for energy,
gave gifts to brahmins to secure good fortune
and, saying goodbye to Yudhishthira,
was finally off. The sun was sinking fast.
Following the route blazed by Arjuna,
Satyaki sliced through the Kaurava lines,
killing hundreds. Again, he encountered Drona,
but wasted no time fighting him. Instead
he told his charioteer to find a passage
between the separate divisions led
by Drona and Karna.
Now he had set his mind
on his objective, all his mastery
and his celestial weapons came into play.
At one point he dueled with Duhshasana
but with restraint, remembering Bhima’s oath.
Duhshasana ran for Drona’s protection.
“Why are you fleeing from the fight, my son?”
asked Drona scornfully. “You were brave enough
when you insulted Draupadi. Where now
is your pride and insolence? What will you do
when you are up against real opposition,
faced with Arjuna the invincible?
If you are that frightened, urge your brother
to make a just peace with the Pandavas.”
Once again, Drona and Dhrishtadyumna
met in battle. They wounded each other badly,
but neither of them could get the upper hand.
Drona, white-haired, eighty-five years old,
fought like a youth. In fact, the rumor spread
that this was Indra himself, armed with thunder.
Yudhishthira was desperate to know
what was happening to Arjuna.
Again he heard Krishna’s conch, and was afraid—
suppose it meant his brother had been killed?
He said to Bhima, “I’m seeing Arjuna,
seeing him in my mind—his tall, straight form,
his shining hair and dark skin, his strong arms.
I cannot see his standard, so I fear
he has been overwhelmed. And Satyaki—
what has become of him? You, my Bhima,
must go and find out. Dhrishtadyumna here
can certainly protect me from abduction.”
Bhima set off, though with some reluctance,
and found that Arjuna was fighting strongly.
He uttered a great roar, and Yudhishthira,
hearing it, was reassured. Then Karna,
that hero endowed with preternatural skill,
desiring battle, his first formal duel
of the war, mounted an assault on Bhima.
What a fight that was! The two great warriors
fought differently—Karna graceful, subtle,
Bhima more dependent on sheer strength,
but accurate for all that. Each let loose
hundreds of arrows. Roaring still, Bhima
bisected Karna’s bow, then wounded him
with ten straight shafts. Seizing another bow,
Karna shot a lightning cascade of arrows.
Bhima blocked them. Then, with broad-headed shafts,
he killed Karna’s charioteer and horses,
and all the while he smiled and roared with pleasure.
Karna quickly mounted his son’s chariot
and fought on; but, mindful of the promise
he had made to Kunti, he fought with restraint.
Soon, the heroes were bristling with arrows
sticking out all over, like porcupines,
and blood flowed down over their golden mail,
rendering it coppery. They exchanged
insults: “You contemptible driver’s son!”
“Eunuch! You lumbering half-wit! You glutton!”
Seeing Karna hard pressed, Duryodhana
sent one of his brothers, Durjaya,
to support him. It was not long before
Bhima sliced his head from his body. Later,
after Karna had twice more had his chariot
smashed to bits beneath him, another brother,
Durmukha, came—and met with the same fate.
Then Duryodhana sent several more
of your sons, each of whom was felled
by the furious Bhima. Karna, grieving
and feeling responsible for all these deaths,
withdrew from the fighting for a while
and ritually walked around each body
out of respect for these fallen princes
who for years had been like his own brothers.
Dhritarashtra interrupted Sanjaya:
“Something in your tale is disturbing me.
Duryodhana pins all his hopes of victory
on Karna. This war was only started
because the driver’s son assured my boy
that he could annihilate the Pandavas.
But (as you have told me) he has promised
that he will not kill Kunti’s other sons,
only Arjuna. I am wondering, then,
how can Karna, with his heart divided,
act completely for Duryodhana’s good?
“But these things are beyond my comprehension.
It is time, after all, that will decide.”
Sanjaya continued:
Bhima began to make his way to where
Arjuna and Krishna could be found.
But Karna followed him. Breathing hot sighs,
keen to avenge the dead Kaurava princes,
keen, too, to prove his worth to Duryodhana,
Karna shot a cloud of golden arrows
radiating in a shining blur
like the sun itself. So many were there
it was as if they sprang not just from his bow
but from all round his chariot. The arrows,
beautifully fletched with peacock feathers,
were like a flight of the most lovely birds.
And he himself was radiant: tall, handsome,
crowned with a chaplet of blue lotuses.
Bhima, remembering his former wrongs,
eagerly responded. A roaring tempest,
he scattered the discouraged Kauravas
like fragile leaves sent flying in the wind.
Soon his arrows were drinking Karna’s blood,
and thirty-one of your sons, O majesty,
died in that fracas.
Now Duryodhana
remembered how wise Vidura, his uncle,
had warned him that events in the gaming hall,
the insults suffered by the Pandavas,
would bear bitter fruit. But this recall
did not set him on a saner path
though, even now, he could have stopped the war
by acting rightly.
Bhima roared with joy,
gladdening the heart of Yudhishthira
as he launched his troops against Drona
some way off. Bhima’s duel with Karna
became a spectacle, with celestial beings—
rishis, siddhas and gandharvas—applauding
and showering the combatants with petals.
Bhima, though full of rage, knew that Arjuna
had Karna marked out as his own opponent,
so aimed to hurt, rather than to kill him.
Finally, Bhima’s weapons were used up.
Karna harried him and struck him senseless.
Recovering, he seized what came to hand—
chariot wheels, elephants’ severed limbs—
and flung them at his opponent.
“You’re a child!”
jeered Karna, “What do you think you’re doing?
Children don’t belong on the battlefield.
Go to the woods! Gather fruits for your dinner.”
and he touched Bhima lightly on the chest
with his bow-end. Bhima laughed scornfully.
“Haven’t I always got the better of you,
you wicked bastard?” And he turned away.
“Satyaki is approaching,” said Krishna.
“Yudhishthira must have ordered him
to join you; as he comes, he is dispatching
Kauravas by the hundred. Satyaki,
your friend and disciple, is truly great.”
Arjuna was not pleased. “My instructions
were to guard Yudhishthira. Now Drona,
like a circling hawk, will swoop on him.
“And look—you can see Satyaki’s in trouble:
he is tired, his weapons all but spent,
and now he is being attacked by Bhurishravas,
that formidable fighter! This is too much!
Yudhishthira was wrong to send him here.
Now I have to worry about him
and about Yudhishthira, and somehow
slaughter Jayadratha before sunset!”
Bhurishravas, strong and menacing,
advanced on Satyaki. “Today, my friend,
prepare to die. The wives of all those heroes
whom you have killed will rejoice, I promise you.”
“Save your breath,” scoffed Satyaki. “Stop boasting,
you bag of wind!” With that, they launched themselves
with great energy, wounding each other
with showers of arrows, so that their blood flowed.
They ended up on foot, circling each other
with naked swords, grasping their bull-hide shields.
They roared and grunted like two elephants,
sometimes thrusting, sometimes head-butting,
rolling on the ground, wrestling, no holds barred.
Bhurishravas looked likely to be victor
since Satyaki, who had never known defeat,
was exhausted and was lacking weapons.
Sooner than see Satyaki broken now,
Arjuna chose a razor-headed arrow
and sliced off the arm of Bhurishravas,
the sword still in its hand. The warrior
cried to him in wrath. “Oh, Arjuna,
this is a sinful act, cruel and heartless—
I was not fighting you. Were you not taught
the rules of righteous conduct? Shame on you!
You have been keeping sinful company;
no doubt that’s why you’ve left the path of virtue.”
“Self-defense is not a sin,” said Arjuna,
“and Satyaki is like a part of me—
my dear disciple and my honored kinsman.
You had your sword poised to cut his throat—
it would have been a sin just to stand by.”
Bhurishravas, now useless as a warrior,
vowed to die by fasting unto death,
and sat meditating upon mantras,
senses withdrawn, in great tranquillity.
But Satyaki still wanted to dispatch him,
remembering the pain he had inflicted
in killing Satyaki’s beloved sons
earlier in the war. He raised his sword
and, with one blow, beheaded his enemy.
“Alas! Shame! Shame!” cried the Kauravas.
Satyaki snapped back, “What’s your complaint?
This man has been killed in the press of battle.
Wicked Kauravas! Where was your sense of shame
when you set upon an unprotected boy
like a pack of slavering hyenas?
Where was shame then? I see you do not answer!
“I have it on reputable authority
that men should always act to accomplish that
which gives the most grief to their enemies—
even women were killed in the old days.
In killing this man, I acted lawfully.”
No one there applauded him, however,
neither Kaurava nor Pandava.
Time moved relentlessly, marked by the sun
indifferently sailing through the heavens,
dropping westward. No earthly thing would make it
slow its course, however high the stake,
even if Arjuna should lose his life
for want of a few extra, dawdling, minutes.
The Pandava was desperate. “Speed on!
Speed on the horses, Krishna, outstrip the sun!
Make my vow true!”
Duryodhana was tense;
the Pandava chariot was approaching fast.
“Karna, take up arms against Arjuna.
Look at the sun! We only have to stop him
briefly and the world will belong to us.
Without him, the Pandavas are finished.”
Karna, in great pain from his fight with Bhima,
said, “Fate will decide, but I will do my best.”
For this last-ditch defense, the Kauravas
mobilized their most accomplished fighters:
Ashvatthaman, Kripa, Duhshasana,
Karna and his son Vrishasena,
Shalya the Madra king, Duryodhana . . .
But even as they grouped themselves for battle
in a cordon around the Sindhu king,
and as the sun was throwing streaks of flame
across the sky, Arjuna was already
laying waste to the Kaurava defense.
Then followed the most fierce and bitter fighting
of the whole war so far. Great Arjuna,
whose thoughts were never far from Abhimanyu,
massacred by the men before him now,
fought like a god. A hundred of his arrows
pierced Karna, bathing him in blood. Karna
in return pelted him with arrows;
Arjuna cut them all off in mid-flight,
then sent a special shaft—which Ashvatthaman
intercepted, knocking it to earth.
Arjuna killed Karna’s four fine horses
and his charioteer. Ashvatthaman
hauled Karna up onto his own chariot
and the fight continued, others weighing in.
Such was the damage dealt by Arjuna
that the Kaurava troops began to falter
as they stumbled over the mangled bodies
of their comrades, who formed a jumbled mound
at least three deep. Strewn with dead elephants,
with horses missing heads or hooves, with men
whose wounds were like gaping mouths, gouting blood,
some moving still, some screaming and pleading,
the scene was a truly horrifying hell.
The chariot was mud-caked and obstructed
but Krishna, with preternatural skill, managed
to steer a course nearer, ever nearer
to Jayadratha. Suddenly it was clear
that between the Sindhu king and death
stood only a handful of exhausted troops,
defeated and disorganized.
But look!
Only the barest sliver of the sun
could still be seen above the Asta hill
and Jayadratha himself, fresh and rested,
fought Arjuna, with everything to gain.
To and fro went the advantage. Kaurava
warriors rallied now to Jayadratha
and surrounded him. “Arjuna,” said Krishna,
“I will resort to yoga to make it seem
as if the sun has set. Do not yourself
be deceived. Thinking he’s safe, Jayadratha
will relax his guard—and you can finish him.”
The sky grew dusky. The Kauravas sent up
a cheer of relief, and dropped their vigilance.
“Arjuna!” cried Krishna, “Now is the moment!
But be careful. The Sindhu king carries
a dangerous protection. Whoever causes
his severed head to fall upon the ground,
that person’s own head will disintegrate
into a hundred pieces. The time has come
for you to invoke the marvelous Pashupata.”
Arjuna, with the mantras he had learned,
aimed Pashupata at Jayadratha.
His head flew off and, carried by the weapon,
traveled to where the Sindhu king’s old father
was sitting in profound meditation.
Down fell Jayadratha’s head, landing
in the lap of his own father. Oblivious,
old Sindhu did not notice and, when he rose,
it fell onto the ground, and his own head
exploded in a cloud of fragments.
“Shame!”
cried the outraged Kauravas. “What wickedness!
Arjuna has flown in the face of dharma
and killed the Sindhu king when day was over.”
“The dust got in your eyes, that’s all,” said Krishna.
“Rub them and look again—it’s not yet sunset.”
And now, gazing at the western sky,
everyone could see the crimson segment.
It was still only late afternoon.
“I still cannot grasp,” said Dhritarashtra,
“how we could fail against the Pandavas
when our forces are so well prepared,
so numerous. What can it be but fate?”
“Perhaps,” said Sanjaya, “our forces know
the cause they are supporting is unrighteous.
The kings who make up Duryodhana’s army
are his vassals—they are obliged to fight.
Perhaps the allies of the Pandavas
are fighting from conviction, confident
that their cause is just.”
“How can we know?”
said the blind king. “Destiny plays with us;
it will always have the final word.
“But tell me, Sanjaya, what happened next?”