TWENTY-THREE
Arjuna is shocked by what his sishya does; but this is no time for him to rebuke Satyaki and the Pandava does not say a word. The Kauravas raise accusing voices and Satyaki smolders at them. They cry at him, “Is this dharma that you kill a man who had sat down to die? That you kill him while he sits in dhyana, with his eyes shut?”
Sword in hand, Satyaki roars back at them, “How easy it is to preach dharma to others! But yesterday, when that child said, ‘Come, one by one and fight me’, did you listen to him? When Karna cut Abhimanyu’s bowstring from behind his back that was dharma was it? When you set on him like a pack of dogs, was that dharma? The Kuru Acharya, the Senapati of this great army, was the one who trapped him. He knew only Abhimanyu could enter the chakra vyuha when Arjuna was away. To save his wounded pride, to save face, he murdered a mere boy. I know it was Drona who told Karna the only way Abhimanyu could be subdued: with treachery, from behind his back! When your Sena-pati’s conscience is sold for a title, how dare the rest of you speak of dharma?
As for my killing Bhoorisravas, I care little what you think of it: I am a kshatriya and I must kill anyone who insults me. When I was past fighting back, he struck me down, seized my hair and dragged me round the field. I would have killed him, anyway, or died trying to. I don’t care what you think, my dharma was to kill Bhoorisravas.”
Suddenly, a disembodied voice, an asariri, speaks out of the sky, “No blame clings to Satyaki. It was written that Bhoorisravas would die by his hand.”
The Kaurava army turns away from that sanguinary place. Satyaki has no chariot to ride in; he stands there with his bloodied sword in his hand. Even after the unearthly voice speaks, Arjuna is not convinced of Satyaki’s innocence. But Jayadratha still lives and every moment the sun plunges down the sky and the world grows dimmer.
Arjuna says, “Krishna, our time is short.”
Krishna flicks his reins over the gandharva horses. Duryodhana, Karna, Vrishasena, Aswatthama, Kripa and their soldiers prepare to stop the charge of the white chariot. Duryodhana cries to Karna, “There is only one task for you now: keep Arjuna away from Jayadratha. The sun is not far from setting and all of us will be at your side. If you can do this thing, the war is won.”
But also between Karna and Arjuna stands Satyaki, sword in hand, his feet stained with Bhoorisravas’ blood. Karna rides at the Yadava: to distract Arjuna again, to waste more of his precious time; or, perhaps, deep in his heart, Karna does not want his brother to fail his mission. Arjuna cries, “Quick, Krishna! Ride to Satyaki, he stands defenseless before Karna.”
But Krishna does not want to face Karna now. He fears Indra’s shakti that Karna has. He says, “Let Satyaki face Karna. There are others we must pass, before you can keep your vow.”
“But Satyaki has no chariot!”
“Not for long,” replies the Avatara. He raises the Panchajanya to his lips and a clear rishabha rings across Kurukshetra. Hardly has that note died, when they hear a storm of horses’ hooves and no one can be sure if the sound comes from the earth or the sky. In a moment, a marvelous chariot flashes up to Satyaki and he cannot tell whether that ratha came through the Kaurava lines, or flew down from Devaloka. It shines like treasure on Kurukshetra and flies the banner of the golden eagle. Satyaki climbs into Krishna’s chariot, the Jaitra and Daruka’s chariotry excels the Dark One’s.
Satyaki and Karna fight a pitched duel. But Karna’s sarathy is no match for Daruka, who flies here and there, like thoughts, as hard to aim at. The advantage of fighting from Krishna’s chariot, yoked to the foam-born horses Varuna gave the Blue God, tells for the Yadava. Besides, killing Bhoorisravas has invigorated Satyaki. He cripples Karna’s chariot and Duryodhana has to rescue his friend.
The Kauravas must stop Satyaki from gaining Arjuna’s side again; together, those two would make short work of cutting their way through to Jayadratha. Dusasana and some of his brothers surround Satyaki; they are dazzled by Daruka’s skill and overwhelmed by the renewed Yadava’s archery. Satyaki has them at his mercy. But he remembers Bheema’s oath and lets them escape; only hurting them sorely on their way.
In grudging admiration, Aswatthama says to Kritavarman, “If anyone on Kurukshetra is Arjuna’s equal and Krishna’s, it is Satyaki.”
Kritavarman murmurs, “There is no fourth.”
But Karna has swung away from the irrepressible Satyaki and confronts Arjuna. Before they actually fight, Arjuna cries to him, “You slaughtered my son like an animal. You will see me kill your boy Vrishasena!”
Arjuna sails past, always flying nearer Jayadratha, whom he now sees clearly through the slender suchimukha. Every moment the sun sinks lower, the shadows grow longer. Duryodhana rides up to Karna and cries, “You must hold him up, Karna! The sun has almost set. Just a while and he will not reach Jayadratha.”
Arjuna sees the sun turn the color of blood and its lower rim touch the horizon. Krishna takes the white chariot deeper into the suchimukha, nearer and nearer the needle’s eye. Five maharathikas led by Karna ride between Arjuna and Jayadratha. Satyaki and Bheema are at Arjuna’s side now, holding off some of the Kaurava warriors. Inexorably, they forge closer, like two tigers hunting a ruru deer, or two hawks swooping down on a shred of flesh and, nothing else for it, Jayadratha raises his bow and fights, at least to keep his terror at bay.
Between them, battling as if for their own lives, Satyaki and Bheema hold up four of the kshatriyas who protect Jayadratha. But Karna looms before Arjuna, like a hill he must cross in a few moments. An ineffable duel breaks out between them. The astras they shoot at each other light up Kurukshetra brighter than the sun, which falls away like Arjuna’s very life. Half the saffron orb is already below the horizon and Karna still bars Arjuna’s way with a hindrance of arrows.
Krishna cries to Arjuna, “We cannot reach him before the sun sets. Night is about to fall, be ready with the Paasupata. Trust me now. When I tell you, kill Jayadratha!”
In faith, Arjuna invokes that weapon with its mantra, though he does not know what Krishna means. A moment later, darkness falls on Kurukshetra and a shout goes up from the Kaurava soldiers. Duryodhana’s roar rings above all the rest. “The sun has set!”
Karna lowers his bow. Arjuna shivers with soft fear in his chariot. He still waits breathlessly, the Paasupata ready in his hand. Jayadratha’s cry of relief echoes there, “The sun has set!”
All the fighting stops. The soldiers raise their eyes to the sky where a thousand stars glimmer down at them in the suddenly fallen night. Jayadratha lifts his head to gaze at the sky. As in a dream, Arjuna hears Krishna hiss at him, “Quick! Kill him now. The sun hasn’t set, I have hidden it for a moment.”
There is no time for doubt. In the dream, past Karna’s chariot, Arjuna sees Jayadratha’s bare neck and shoots the Paasupata at that throat. Just before the astra flames out, Krishna says, “His head mustn’t fall on the earth. Jayadratha’s father sits in sandhya vandana near Samantapanchaka. Let his son’s head fall in his lap!”
Jayadratha’s roar shatters the silence as Siva’s astra takes off his head like a bud from a flowering-tree. As the others spin round, they see a stream of arrows, silvery as moonlight, pluck up that head even as it falls, neatly severed from its neck. They see the spectral shafts carry Jayadratha’s head high above the battlefield and beyond its perimeter. A million voices roar, “Arjuna has broken his vow. He killed Jayadratha after the sun had set!”
Arjuna has no answer to this; but then, a divine Chakra glides majestically away from the last sliver of the setting sun. Night and its stars vanish and Kurukshetra is bathed in ruddy light again, the color of Jayadratha’s blood. Krishna says to Arjuna, “There was no other way. I hid the sun with the Sudar-shana.”
Arjuna’s face is wreathed in a smile. Bheema’s celebrant roars rock Kurukshetra and Satyaki roars with him. Duryodhana and his army stand rooted, hardly believing what their eyes have seen.