VIII
42.
Two days later, Karna, now appointed
the next supreme commander, met his death,
cursed and alone, at the hands of Arjuna.
Sanjaya brought the news to the blind king,
sparing him nothing, and reproaching him.
“Knowing that this disaster is the outcome
of your own failings, do you not despair?
Thinking of the loss of the greatest heroes—
Bhishma, Drona, Karna . . . do you not despair?
Remembering the words of your counselors
which you ignored, do you not despair?”
“If the blind king,” said Janamejaya,
“hearing of Bhishma’s fall, then Drona’s death
and now the death of Karna, his great hope—
if the old king did not die of sorrow,
then that is remarkable indeed.”
Dhritarashtra fainted, as did Gandhari
and the other women. Every last hope
for Duryodhana’s victory had been pinned
on Karna. Now the old king feared the worst.
“I do despair,” he groaned. “I cannot believe
that such invincible heroes could be dead!
And what of my son—is he also dead?”
His legs buckled under him; he burned with grief.
“Duhshasana is dead,” said Sanjaya;
“Duryodhana still lives.” Dhritarashtra,
slightly recovering, begged Sanjaya
to tell him exactly how Karna had died.
“I will,” said Sanjaya, “but a wise man
does not despair, since the gods determine
whether or not effort is rewarded.”
“You are right,” said Dhritarashtra. “I will not
despair over-much. Now, tell me everything.”
After Drona’s brutal, unlawful killing,
the Kauravas spent the night in misery.
Duryodhana and his main advisers
sat together, hour after hour, talking.
Sleep eluded them. They kept reflecting
on all their crimes against the Pandavas,
knowing that they were unforgivable.
Ashvatthaman urged Duryodhana
to appoint Karna as supreme commander,
praising his great prowess. Before dawn
the appropriate rites were carried out.
Karna was consecrated with sacred water.
Luxurious gifts were lavished upon brahmins
so they would pray for victory, and everyone
felt somewhat comforted.
Yudhishthira
and Arjuna surveyed the battlefield
and looked at their own forces forming up.
“How few men are now left in both our armies,”
said Yudhishthira. “A few short days ago,
our ranks stretched further than the eye could see,
yet now they look so pitiful. Today,
I pray you will dispatch Karna, the sole
great warrior among the Kauravas.”
Conches announced the start of the day’s battle.
Fierce fighting began. Although Arjuna
thirsted to kill Karna, repeatedly
he was drawn away by the Trigartas,
whose dedicated mission was to slay him.
They kept provoking skirmishes, like horseflies
stinging a stallion, and although they suffered
devastating losses, they persisted,
squad upon relentless squad of them.
Later, Arjuna fought Ashvatthaman,
who inflicted painful wounds on him.
Suspecting restraint, Krishna was impatient.
“Arjuna, why are you not finishing him?
Ashvatthaman is immensely dangerous
and, just as a disease, if left untreated,
will cause more trouble later, so it is
with him.” Arjuna increased his efforts.
But Ashvatthaman, knowing that Arjuna
and Krishna were invincible, withdrew.
Karna was whirling round the battlefield
standing high on his chariot, armored in gold
like the sun himself. He was formidable,
attacking the Panchalas and Srinjayas
like a lion savaging a herd of deer.
He killed hundreds, and mutilated more,
while Ashvatthaman pursued the Pandyas.
The field was littered with the jeweled limbs,
heads and trunks of numberless fallen heroes.
Karna fought a duel with Nakula.
Onlookers might have thought them evenly matched,
but Karna could have killed the younger man
with little effort, had he not borne in mind
the solemn promise he had made to Kunti.
Nakula sustained only slight wounds
and was withdrawing when Karna, with his bow,
hooked him back as if he were a fish.
“Just stick to your equals,” he said, laughing,
and let him go. Nakula shook with rage
and humiliation.
Yudhishthira
fought with Duryodhana, while their forces
battled around them. The fight was long and hard
although eventually Yudhishthira
got the better of it, and could have killed
his opponent. But Bhima, seeing this,
reminded him that he himself had vowed
to send Duryodhana to the afterlife.
So Yudhishthira withheld his weapons,
and your son, in great pain and enraged,
limped back to camp, face like a thundercloud.
The sun had almost set. But now, at last,
Karna and Arjuna met face to face—
the greatest warriors in all the world!
For each, the other was the ultimate,
the glorious partner, destiny incarnate.
Almost like lovers, ardent and obsessed,
they rushed eagerly toward each other.
Only one would walk from Kurukshetra;
the other’s blood would feed this tragic soil.
But this was not the final act, not yet.
This was not a duel between two heroes
but a fierce battle between the armies
which the heroes led. And Arjuna,
piloted by Krishna, did most damage,
thickly raking the Kauravas with arrows
without respite, so that the battle seemed
to be raging under a mesh of shafts.
Battered and wounded, hurled out of their vehicles,
crushed by their own elephants, stripped of armor,
weapons spent, the exhausted Kauravas
had never been more grateful for the dusk.
Joyless, they limped and straggled back to camp.
Late that night, in Duryodhana’s tent,
Karna took stock. “No doubt Arjuna
is a redoubtable and skilled opponent.
His bow Gandiva is celestial,
but my bow is finer—the great Vijaya
given to me by my respected teacher.
My prowess as an archer surpasses his.
No one has more courage than I do.
My will to win is absolute. But he has
Krishna—that is what makes him formidable.
Krishna advises him. Krishna inspires him.
Krishna is an unearthly charioteer,
weaving and dodging with the speed of light.
Then, too, Arjuna’s horses are immortal
and swift as thought; chariot, impregnable.
“Nevertheless, I have vowed to kill him.
Tomorrow, he will die, and I will give you
victory over all the world, or else
I myself will die attempting it.
To redress the balance of advantage,
I would like Shalya as my charioteer—
no one exceeds his expertise with horses.
If he will do it, nothing on earth can stop me.”
Knowing Shalya would certainly take umbrage
at being asked to drive for a driver’s son,
Duryodhana spoke to him with honeyed words.
When he heard your son’s proposal, Shalya
was incandescent with hurt pride and anger.
“I am a king, a distinguished warrior!
I could split the earth with my bare hands—
see the muscles on these arms of mine!
The driver’s son is vastly my inferior;
how can you ask me to be his underling?
This is an insult! I will not fight at all.
Farewell—I shall depart for my own kingdom.”
“It is an unusual request, I know,”
said Duryodhana. “I realize
that those belonging to the driver caste
should be the servants of kshatriyas,
not the reverse. And you are a great warrior,
ruler of the Madras, virulent dart
in the contemptible skin of your enemies.
But Karna was a foundling, as you know.
Look at him, his stature, his massive chest;
think of the natural armor he was born with—
how could he really be of inferior birth?
Would his guru have taught celestial weapons
to one whom he regarded as unworthy?
“Arjuna is able to crush our forces
only because Krishna is his driver.
You are the only warrior we have
who can be compared in skill with Krishna.
Just as Karna is greater than Arjuna,
so your skill with horses is superior
by far to Krishna’s. Agree to this, my friend,
I beg you; help Karna crush the Pandavas.”
Reluctant, but flattered, Shalya acquiesced—
but specified that he would speak to Karna
as he felt inclined, not with deference.
Duryodhana, relieved, reminded him
that in the war between the gods and demons,
great Brahma acted as the charioteer
of Shiva, who was able to destroy
the triple city with a single arrow.
It was the seventeenth morning of the war.
The armies, much reduced, were riding out
to meet each other. The Kauravas rejoiced
to see Karna, resplendent on his chariot,
brilliant as the lord of light himself,
driven by Shalya. Impervious to fate,
full of cheerful trust and optimism,
they did not pay attention to dire portents—
thunder in a cloudless sky, fierce winds,
a shower of bones tumbling around them.
Karna’s horses stumbled as they set out
to tumultuous cheering from the ranks.
As they traveled, Shalya bore in mind
the promise he had made to Yudhishthira
that he would say and do all in his power
to shake Karna’s resolve and confidence.
“Do not think, Shalya, I am afraid to die,”
said Karna. “Simply, I cannot tolerate
any harm coming to Duryodhana.
Among his warriors, only I am able
to protect him and deliver victory.
With my beautiful bows, my blazing sword,
in my gorgeous chariot draped with tiger skins,
I will, today, send Arjuna to the realm
of Yama—and if all the celestials
were to combine forces to protect him,
with you as my driver I would vanquish them!”
Scornfully, Shalya laughed at him. “Stop now!
Stop these empty boasts, driver’s son,” he said.
“Think of the many brave and marvelous feats
Arjuna has performed. Remember how
he burned the Khandava Forest; how he snatched
Krishna’s sister as his bride; how he rescued
Duryodhana from the gandharvas; recall
how he beat off the Kaurava cattle raid,
sending you scurrying for safety! Why
did you not defeat him on that occasion?
Arjuna and Krishna are unsurpassed.
Stop your bragging, if you have any sense.”
“Enough! Enough!” cried Karna, full of rage.
“Time enough, when I have fought the Pandava,
to know if your taunts are fair, or puffs of smoke.
Now, charioteer, rouse up my splendid horses!
Make haste! Let us ride in search of Arjuna.”
As they went he made a handsome offer
to all the Pandava soldiers whom they met:
riches for anyone who would point out
where Arjuna could be found. Shalya sneered.
“No need to waste your wealth. For sure, Arjuna
will be easy enough for you to find.
When you are face to face with him, you’ll soon
regret your foolish boasts and windy speech
and long for the protection of your troops.
You’ll wish you’d searched for him without success.
In your longing to engage with Arjuna
you are like a jackal, rash, deluded,
who dreams of killing a ferocious tiger.
Arjuna is a tiger; and you, my friend,
are a mere jackal, and you always will be.”
“I think you are a foe in friend’s clothing!”
exclaimed Karna, furious and insulted,
“but you will not succeed in weakening me.
The Madras are known as an outlandish race,
unclean in their habits and appearance.
Your women are promiscuous and uncouth,
they scratch their arses and piss standing up.
Your people drink spirits and eat disgusting,
impure substances. They commit robbery
and procure abortions—horrible!
Fickle, disloyal, unreliable,
there is no sin a Madra won’t embrace.
You’re clearly a stooge for the Pandavas,
planted to discourage and alarm me.
But no one will deflect me from my task.
Out of respect for Duryodhana
I hold my peace. But if you carry on
I’ll separate your vile head from your shoulders.”
“It is the backward citizens of Anga,”
retorted Shalya, “who are the sinful ones—
it’s said they even sell off their own children.
That is the kind of people you rule over.
Still—good and bad are found in every country.
It’s easy to condemn the faults of others.
What I am saying should not make you angry.”
“I know better than you do,” said Karna,
“the qualities of Arjuna and Krishna.
But it is neither helpful in you, nor kind,
to gloatingly remind me of them now.
I shall fearlessly fight the Pandava.
It’s true, I am troubled by the double curse
I bear. But if my celestial weapons
prove ineffective, my enemy will learn
that I have many others. Just as the land
resists the mighty pounding of the ocean
so will I stand up to Arjuna
with calm and hopeful heart. I know my skill;
my gifts as an archer are at least as great
as his. And if I boast, it is because
boasting is fitting conduct for a warrior
on the brink of battle—quite deliberate,
not mindless bragging. Now, let us drive on.
I entrust myself to the gods’ will.”
No sooner had the two armies engaged
than the Trigartas, always in the offing,
with Arjuna their solitary target,
attacked him like a swarm of killer bees.
He made short work of them, but close behind
came the legions of the Kaurava allies,
and soon the battle became more general.
Meanwhile, Karna was fighting the Panchalas
and others among the Pandava allies,
accompanied by three of his valiant sons,
and they killed dozens of leading warriors.
Grieving for Ghatotkacha, killed by Karna,
Bhima cut off the head of Karna’s son,
Satyasena, beautiful as the moon.
He took aim at another son, Sushena,
but Karna blocked his arrow, and then injured
Bhima with several swift shafts of his own.
Then, in an even more violent assault,
he slammed seventy arrows into Bhima.
So it continued. Karna, as if inspired,
struck his enemies so fast and furiously
that no one could make out how he took aim,
only the blur of his strong arms in motion.
He found himself confronting Yudhishthira.
He destroyed the Pandava’s bow, and then,
with ninety almost simultaneous arrows,
stripped off his armor, bright with precious jewels
like the night sky glittering with stars.
Yudhishthira, enraged, fought back with lances
and wounded Karna, who quite soon, however,
deprived him of all weapons. Yudhishthira
began to withdraw, but Karna laid a hand
on his shoulder and, mindful of his promise,
merely spoke to him. “Have you forgotten
how a kshatriya should conduct himself?
Leaving the battle to save your craven life,
you are behaving like a timid brahmin.
I would not stoop to kill one such as you.”
Your nephew turned, pale with humiliation.
He shouted to his troops, “Exert yourselves!”
The Pandava troops then flung themselves against
the Kauravas, who returned their vicious blows,
yelling wildly with a savage joy
until the earth was littered with the limbs
of heroic combatants, drunk with battle.
The sound of music coming from the sky
was heard above the din, as apsarases
greeted heroes newly arrived in heaven.
That sound made those still battling below
more careless of their lives, anticipating
the pleasures that awaited them. They fought
like men possessed; if they lost their weapons
they tore at one another with their nails,
punched, bit each other, dragged at each other’s hair,
hurled themselves into the lake of blood
that grew ever wider.
Bhima had seen
Karna inflict shame on Yudhishthira
and was as eager to avenge his brother
as Karna was keen to re-engage with him.
“Truly,” said Shalya, seeing Bhima coming,
“I never saw Bhima look so menacing.
He looks as if he could dispatch the creatures
of all three worlds together!” Karna laughed.
“Quite right,” he said. “But if I can wound Bhima,
or destroy his chariot, then Arjuna
will come for me. And that is what I want—
have wanted all my life.” Shalya drove
at Bhima, and the two great warriors clashed.
Painful wounds were inflicted by each of them,
arrows thudding into each other’s body,
ripping through armor, taking the breath away.
At last Bhima, drawing his bow right back,
loosed an arrow straight at Karna’s heart
with such deadly force that Karna fainted,
and Shalya drove him out of shooting range.
Exhilarated, Bhima then attacked
and killed many more of your brave sons.
Karna, recovered, went back to the assault
against Bhima, and destroyed his chariot.
Bhima jumped down and, brandishing his mace
like Indra destroying mountains with his thunder,
charged the Kaurava elephant division,
felling hundreds. He seemed superhuman,
tackling Kaurava riders by the thousand,
smashing a hundred of the foremost chariots
and several hundred foot soldiers.
Meanwhile,
Karna had returned to Yudhishthira,
again succeeding in making him retreat,
and killing his charioteer. Hour after hour
battle raged between the two great armies.
To and fro went the advantage, like the sea’s
shifting tides under the governing moon.
And still Karna had not come face to face
with Arjuna. Almost like one who knows
his true place is with his absent soul mate,
he longed for him. Only when they met,
weapon against weapon, body for body,
would his life achieve its resolution.
But Arjuna was fighting the Trigartas
yet again. This time, he and Krishna
blew on their conches, and while the enemy
was confused by the immense and brutal din
which scrambled the brain, Arjuna invoked
the Naga weapon, to paralyze the limbs
of his enemies. Each of them found
his legs encircled with strong writhing snakes,
hampering his movement. Then Susharman,
king of the Trigartas, mobilized
the Sauparna weapon, which brought flocks of birds
to gorge themselves, feasting on serpent flesh.
The Trigartas went back to the attack,
wounding Arjuna. Then he invoked
the Aindra weapon, slaughtering many thousands,
but still your son’s staunch allies would not give up;
only the death of Arjuna, or their own,
could fulfill their vow.
Karna, now,
fought like a celestial incarnate.
Wherever he was, the sun seemed specially bright.
None who saw him balancing on his chariot,
armored all in gold, could ever forget him.
Years afterward, survivors telling children
tales of their heroic past might say,
“I saw Karna fight at Kurukshetra,
mowing down the Pandavas like grass
and with extraordinary grace and beauty,
radiant as the sun. I can assure you
the world will never know his like again.”
The day wore on. If you could have looked down
on the battlefield from a great height,
it might have seemed an altar, with offerings
of all the precious wealth of the whole world.
The altar cloth was red, of varied shades
from poppy scarlet through to almost black.
It looked like a tapestry without design
(or, if there was one, it was not apparent)
and on it were objects, some moving, some still,
gray mounds, shining shapes, glittering colors,
gold and precious jewels without number.
What deity could ask such hard-won riches?
Who was entitled to such sacrifice?
Krishna scanned the field. “I fear Yudhishthira
must be badly wounded. I cannot see
his standard anywhere, and the Panchalas
are rushing forward, as if to rescue him.”
Arjuna urged Bhima to find their brother
but Bhima was reluctant, fearing to seem
as though he was avoiding Karna. Krishna
urged on the horses, and he and Arjuna
hurried to Yudhishthira’s tent, and found him
lying on his bed, hurt but alive.
Joyfully, he greeted Arjuna.
“Your coming must mean Karna is no more!
All these years, the thought of him, the dread,
has never left me. And since he overcame me
yet let me go, my rage and shame have burned me
with unbearable pain. Tell me everything!
Tell me how you fought and slaughtered him.”
“I had to fight again with the Trigartas,”
said Arjuna. “Karna was terrorizing
our troops, and I was just about to find him
to send him flying to the realm of Death
when I heard that you were injured, perhaps killed,
so I hurried here at once.” Yudhishthira
was angry and disappointed. “Arjuna,
this is dishonorable! You made a promise
that you would kill Karna, that wicked soul.
Even at your birth, it was predicted
that you would vanquish all our enemies.
How is it that you have fallen so short?
Your bow Gandiva is all-powerful,
you have the blessed Krishna for your driver.
The divine monkey adorns your banner.
If, despite all this, you can’t succeed,
give Gandiva to another warrior
and let him finish off that villain Karna!”
Arjuna blazed with anger. He drew his sword
and would have killed Yudhishthira if Krishna
had not held him back. “Arjuna! Stop now!
You came here to check on Yudhishthira;
you have seen him. Why are you so angry?”
“I made a secret promise to myself,”
said Arjuna, “that I would kill anyone
who told me I should pass Gandiva over
to someone braver.”
“That is no excuse,”
said Krishna. “You have violated dharma.
To draw your sword when not engaged in battle
is wrong; to draw it on your elder brother
is a deep outrage. That vow you made
was foolishness. And Yudhishthira spoke
in pain from his wounds, without reflecting.”
“Oh, Krishna,” said Arjuna, “you always speak
wisely. But now how can I do what’s right?
If I were to kill my beloved brother
I would commit the most appalling sin.
But if I break my word, I shall be unrighteous
according to the scriptures. What’s to be done?”
Krishna replied, “Scripture is well and good,
but it does not provide for every case.
Sometimes we have to use our powers of reason.
Remember the example of Kaushika:
“THERE WAS ONCE an ascetic called Kaushika, who lived in an isolated spot at the confluence of many rivers. He was not very well educated in the Vedas, but he made a vow that he would always speak the truth, and became famous in those parts as a truth-teller.
“One day, some fugitives ran past his house, being pursued by robbers, and they entered a nearby wood. Soon afterward, the robbers arrived. ‘Holy one, which way did those people go?’ they asked. ‘We know you always speak the truth.’
“‘They ran among the trees, over there,’ replied Kaushika.
“Off rushed the robbers; they caught up with their quarry and killed them all. And foolish Kaushika was consigned to deepest hell.
“So, Arjuna, you must understand:
dharma is about doing the least harm—
you decide, therefore, what you should do.”
Arjuna remained perplexed. “Well,” said Krishna,
“I suggest you could fulfill your vow
by doing harmless harm to Yudhishthira.
You could address him disrespectfully—
that could be seen as symbolizing murder.
After that, prostrate yourself before him,
touching his feet. And, in that way, honor
on your side and on his will be satisfied.
You will avoid both fratricide and falsehood.
Then, apply yourself to fighting Karna.”
A chastened Arjuna obeyed: “Yudhishthira,
what you have said to me, even if prompted
by pain and disappointment, is most unfeeling.
If Bhima had addressed me in this way,
I could have taken it, since he tirelessly
pits himself against the enemy.
But you are constantly away from battle,
protecting yourself, or else being protected.
Everything we do, the risks we take,
all the searing wounds inflicted on us,
are for your good. And the only reason
that we are here, rather than enjoying
a life of pleasant ease in Indraprastha,
is your love of gambling, nothing else.
For this alone, millions of brave men
have lost their lives, condemning wives and children
to a bereft and comfortless existence.”
Having spoken, Arjuna was appalled
at what he had just said. He drew his sword,
this time to kill himself. Krishna stopped him.
“How impetuous you are, Arjuna.
Kill yourself, and you certainly will go
to the vilest hell imaginable.
Say something now to praise your own merits—
that will be tantamount to suicide.”
Arjuna boasted of his accomplishments,
after which he put away his sword
and asked his eldest brother for forgiveness.
But Yudhishthira had taken Arjuna
seriously and, rising from his bed,
lamented, blaming himself bitterly.
“Bhima should be king instead of me!
I should retire to the farthest forest
in penance, for the remainder of my days.”
“Yudhishthira,” said Krishna, “please forgive me.
It is my fault that Arjuna was moved
to speak the way he did. Now, let all this
be forgotten. Today, without a doubt,
Karna will be killed by Arjuna.”
Yudhishthira became relieved and cheerful.
“What would we do without you? You always
guide us wisely when we lose our way!”
Yudhishthira and Arjuna embraced,
weeping, comforting each other. Arjuna
bowed to his brother, clasping his two feet.
“Today, I shall kill Karna. Until I do,
I shall not return. When you next see me
it will be as Karna’s conqueror.”