ELEVEN
The evening Abhimanyu died, there is jubilation in the Kaurava camp. Drona is lionized: he had kept his word and one of the most feared Pandava warriors was dead. Moreover, this death, more than any other, would shatter the enemy’s morale. It would break Arjuna’s heart and his brothers’ hearts. There is even speculation whether Arjuna will kill himself when he hears the news.
Duryodhana learns of the massacre of the Samsaptakas. He thinks it a fair price to pay for Abhimanyu’s death. Why, the Kaurava hardly mourns his own son, Lakshmana, whom Abhimanyu killed. He is so excited that Arjuna’s boy is dead. The war possesses Duryodhana absolutely; everything else, even his son’s life is insignificant when seen in the light of victory. No price is too high to pay, no sacrifice too dear to make. He celebrates with the others, his pale eyes gleaming brightest of all.
Suddenly, the night’s silence is riven with the thunder of the Gandiva, followed by the awesome bass of the Panchajanya. In Duryodhana’s tent, they all fall silent. This is not what they had expected, this triumphant pulling at bowstring and blasting on conch. It unnerves them.
But Duryodhana cries, “Hollow sounds! They don’t deceive me. Their spirits are broken and they will die soon.”
The drinking and celebration continue, if less raucously than before, until Jayadratha bursts in on them, shaking. Karna cries, “What news, O Kshatriya?”
Jayadratha is in such a state he can hardly speak. Somehow, he manages to blurt, “Our spies say Arjuna has sworn to kill me before the sun sets tomorrow! I want to go back to my father’s kingdom. It is against kshatriya dharma to pursue someone who has fled the field. Arjuna is a man of dharma. He won’t come after me.”
Jayadratha has served his purpose already; the shrewd Duryodhana expects no further valor from him. The Kaurava gives a short, cruel laugh. “You are trembling like a woman, Jayadratha. Don’t be afraid: a man may swear any oath he likes in a fit of grief, but how will Arjuna kill you? Besides, we hardly killed Abhimanyu with dharma. I think you will be safer with our army than riding home alone. Besides, did you mark what the spies reported? Arjuna said, ‘Even if he hides with Siva himself, I will kill him!’“
Jayadratha shakes like a leaf. Duryodhana continues, “The safest place on earth for you is at the heart of my army. All of us will protect you. Even Indra will not be able to touch you, as long as you are with us. I shall be at your side, Jayadratha and Karna, Vivimsati, Sala, Shalya, Chitrasena, Bhoorisravas, Vrishasena, Purumitra, Kripa, Bhoja, Vikarna, Durmukha, Dusasana, Vinda, Anuvinda, Aswatthama, Shakuni, Alambusa. To name only some of those whose sole task tomorrow will be to guard your life. Why, our every soldier will have my command just to protect you.
By yourself today you kept Bheema, Yudhishtira, Dhrishtadyumna, Satyaki, Nakula, Sahadeva and all the rest from breaking into the chakra vyuha. And now you fear just Arjuna? He is only another man, like the rest of us. He is no Deva that you should be so terrified of him. I give you my word and I would stake my own life on it: he will not harm a hair of your head!”
Softly, Duryodhana goes on, “Then there is Arjuna’s vow. Jayadratha, you will kill Arjuna: not by cutting him down in battle, but by staying alive until the sun sets tomorrow. Didn’t the spies tell you he has sworn to kill himself, if he has not killed you by sunset? I swear you will not die, but he!”
He is full of dark excitement. “Everything is turning our way once more. Abhimanyu’s death has achieved what we wanted: Arjuna has sworn a rash oath he cannot keep. And when he burns himself after he fails to kill you, what will the other Pandavas do? The rest will be easy to finish. Jayadratha, you have been chosen to be the pretext of our victory!”
Far from reassured, Jayadratha says, “Can all of us together stop Arjuna from keeping his oath? Duryodhana, we killed his son and fear grips me like a pisacha!”
Duryodhana sighs, “If you won’t take my word, let us go to the Acharya and see what he says.”
In Drona’s tent, Jayadratha asks the master, “Acharya, tell me, am I the better archer or is Arjuna?”
Drona says slowly, “You are both great bowmen and you have the same guru. But Arjuna is more dedicated than you; not a day passes when he does not practise with his bow for hours. For him archery is worship. He also has the devastras and he is more resilient than you are.
But all that does not matter: I will save you from Arjuna tomorrow. I will form a vyuha whose mystery he will never penetrate. We will set you at the heart of it and, guarded by us all, you will be safe.”
Jayadratha is still unconvinced, anxiety plain on his face. As if this doubt is a slight to him, Drona says impatiently, “I will do everything I can to protect you. But if it is fated that Arjuna kills you, what shame is there in dying in battle? How splendidly young Abhimanyu met his death today. All that are born must die; and what finer death is there for a kshatriya than to die fighting a war like this one? If Arjuna kills you, Jayadratha, you will find heaven for yourself!”
Jayadratha trembles more than ever. With a sigh, Drona says, “Listen to me. We must save your life tomorrow, not only for your sake but for the very war. I mean to form not one, or two, but three vyuhas and to hide you at the heart of them. On the outside, we shall have a shakata vyuha, within that a chakra and finally a suchimukha vyuha, with you at the needle’s eye, watched over by a column of maharathikas. I will stand over all three vyuhas and anyone who enters them will first have to pass me.
Arjuna has delivered his life into our hands. Even if he breaks past the shakata and chakra vyuhas, it will take him all day. Then, the third and most difficult vyuha will confront him; and I will be at its point again. The sun will have set long before he can reach you.”
Jayadratha seems consoled. Duryodhana moistens his lips in anticipation of Arjuna’s death.
Later that night, across Kurukshetra, Krishna comes alone to Arjuna’s tent. Arjuna lies stiff as an arrow in his bed, his eyes streaming for his son, but his face set like stone. He must keep his vow. First, Jayadratha would die tomorrow. But the others wouldn’t escape, the six cowards who had hunted his child down like an animal.
Krishna glides in and sits beside Arjuna. He says, “That was a rash oath you swore. Where was the need to say you would take your own life if you don’t kill Jayadratha tomorrow? Duryodhana knows about your oath and Drona means to hide Jayadratha at the heart of three vyuhas, with every soldier of his army charged to protect one man’s life.”
Arjuna lies in the darkness, silent. Krishna continues, “A shakata vyuha, first, with Drona at its threshold, then a chakra and finally, a vyuha to confound even you: a suchimukha, with Jayadratha at its eye. And the body of the needle will have their finest warriors, one after the other, Karna, Aswat-thama, Bhoorisravas, Vrishasena, Durjaya, Duryodhana, Shalya, Kripa, Durmukha and Drona, again, following you in. Can you break past all these in time to kill Jayadratha before the sun sets?”
Arjuna is perfectly calm. He says with unusual certainty, “All these men together are not half the archer I am. Drona and his son will not stand before me tomorrow; nor will Karna or any of the others. Jayadratha will die before the sun sets. How will he not die, when my child Abhimanyu will be watching to see if I keep my oath?
Why are you of all people so full of doubt, Krishna, when we shall be irresistible tomorrow? Think of it like this: we have the noblest weapon with us, the Gandiva. Some say Arjuna is the best archer in the world and the greatest man who ever lived is my sarathy. When you are with me, Lord, how will I fail?”
Arjuna cannot be certain if Krishna smiles in the night. They sit together without speaking for a time and Abhimanyu fills their thoughts. Arjuna says, “I cannot face Subhadra tonight. I can’t bear to see her cry. I haven’t the strength to console Uttaraa. I beg you, go and comfort them for me. Tell them I will see them tomorrow, when I have kept my oath.”
Krishna goes to his sister’s tent. He finds her crying as mothers have since the dawn of time, whenever they lost a son to a bestial war. She sits on the floor, her hair loose, convulsed with sobs. The princess Uttaraa sits beside her, pale, numb, tears flowing down her shocked face. Subhadra rises when Krishna comes in. With a wail she runs into his arms and breaks down utterly. Tears springing in his own eyes, Krishna holds her, while she weeps in tides of grief.
Gradually, Subhadra calms down and they sit beside each other again; she never lets go of his hand. Long they sit, in silence. He wipes her tears with dark fingers and says gently, “You mustn’t grieve like this. Abhimanyu has reached Devaloka; he is part of the Moon. He is blessed, he is blissful and he died as only the very greatest kshatriyas do. His name is already a legend. Men will always say he was the most perfect prince that ever lived. You must not grieve like this for a warrior who lived as full a life as he did and died a death for which other men would vie.
Subhadra, you are a daughter of the House of Vrishni. You are the wife of the greatest archer in the world. Your brothers are kshatriyas, you son was a great kshatriya. You must not cry. We are in the midst of a war, for which your child gave his life. This is no time for weakness.”
Subhadra says, “How can I not cry, Krishna? I think of my boy, whom I carried as a golden baby in my arms, whom I nursed at my breast. I think of him lying on Kurukshetra, his body torn and bloody, his head crushed: and how can I not cry? The five Pandavas are alive, peerless Arjuna and Krishna are alive. Yet, my child lies dead, with kites and hyenas picking his bones. Oh, how could this happen, Krishna? I thought the sons of Pandu are the mightiest kshatriyas on earth, but I see I was wrong. Otherwise, with his uncles beside him, how was my son killed? He was just sixteen and you tell me that I should not cry because he died a kshatriya’s death? What do I care about that? To me, my child is dead and that is all!”
Sobs wrack her again. Krishna holds her close. When her storm abates, he says, “This is your sorrow speaking, Subhadra. Abhimanyu was killed treacherously by the evil ones we fight. Arjuna and I were lured away from the main battle; then the murderers enticed our child into the chakra vyuha and killed him. They broke his bow from behind, because not all of them together could stand against your son in battle.
Adharma has been born into the world and the kali yuga rises over the earth. But the murderers will not escape punishment. Already, Arjuna has sworn to kill the man who sealed the chakra vyuha after Abhimanyu broke into it. Before the sun sets tomorrow, Jayadratha will die; and that will be just the beginning of our revenge. The cowards will all die and their deaths will not be so noble as your child’s. Think that Abhimanyu is now one of the Gods and he covered himself in glory before he died.
Subhadra, how is it you cry so bitterly only when your own boy is dead? Do you know how many thousands of mothers have lost their sons to this war? Their tears flow in a river that fills the night. It is a river that sprang in this world long ago, when the very first war was fought; and the river of grief will flow on until the world ends. Dry your tears, Subhadra and console this child Uttaraa. She needs your strength now and instead you show her your weakness.”
Draupadi comes in and she is hardly less broken than Subhadra. But she is brave and far stronger for what she has endured these thirteen years. Subhadra and Uttaraa turn to her, almost as to a mother and Panchali comforts them as only another woman can. Krishna returns to Arjuna’s tent.
His warrior is waiting for him, now ready with his offerings. This is a nightly ritual and Krishna sits quietly before the Pandava, who worships him with flowers, fruit, incense and honey. The Avat-ara places a hand on Arjuna’s head, blessing him. He says, “Jaya vijayi bhava.” May you always be victorious. “You must sleep now, Arjuna. You must be fresh and rested tomorrow.”
Turning down the lamp, Krishna goes out into the night, where his sarathy, the faithful Daruka, waits with his chariot to take him to his own tent. Krishna climbs in. They drive back slowly, with a breeze full of prophecies caressing their faces.