to retreat. Seeing this, the Kauravas,
dismayed, fled away in all directions.
Hearing of the death of Iravat,
Arjuna’s heart was wrenched with bitter grief.
“Oh, Krishna, how could anything be worth
this dreadful carnage of the flower of youth
by the million, for the sake of wealth?
Yudhishthira was right to try to bargain
for a mere five villages. Yet, because
Duryodhana would not even grant us that,
we are obliged to fight.” He urged Krishna
to drive the chariot into the thick of battle,
and great was the damage he inflicted there.
Bhima, too, with superhuman strength,
fought, killing many of your valiant sons,
like a wolf let loose among a herd of goats.
Bhishma, rallying the Kauravas,
battled like one inspired, and instilled courage
into every man who fought beside him.
When night came on, and the troops withdrew,
Duryodhana went, disheartened, to his tent.
Karna, Shakuni and Duhshasana
joined him, and they sat around discussing
the way the day had gone. Duryodhana
was in despair at the lack of progress.
The Pandavas seemed fresh and strong as ever,
and he had lost so many of his brothers
at the hands of Bhima, bent upon revenge.
“Is our army being strongly led?
Bhishma seems ineffectual. Meanwhile
our forces shrink, our weapons are dwindling.
I am wondering whether victory
can ever come our way as things are going.”
“Bhishma is old,” said Karna, “and every day
he shows how much he loves the Pandavas.
Besides, he enjoys the fight. Why, then, would he
do what it would take to end the war?
Ask him to withdraw. When he has laid aside
his weapons, I myself will take up arms,
and, single-handed, I will kill Arjuna,
with his friends and brothers, in front of Bhishma.”
Duryodhana was fired up. “Let it be so!
Bring me fine clothes, and dress my retinue.
I shall visit Bhishma. When he consents
to my proposal, I shall come to you.”
Duryodhana proceeded formally
to Bhishma’s tent. Tears in his eyes, he spoke.
“When I undertook this war, I trusted
your great prowess in the martial arts.
I trusted that you could crush the Pandavas.
You promised that you would do this for me.
You have not done it. I beg you, Grandfather,
make your promise true. Or, if you love them—
or hate me—too much for that, then Karna
should fight instead. He will demolish them.”
Bhishma was deeply hurt and insulted,
but did not show it. He answered quietly.
“Why do you say these things, Duryodhana,
when you know I am ready to die for you?
The Pandavas really are invincible—
I, Narada and the other sages
have told you so innumerable times.
Think about it! Think of Arjuna
and the tremendous feats he has performed,
witnessed by you. Think of the Matsya kingdom,
and how the diadem-crowned Pandava
overcame us single-handed, when we
attempted a raid on Virata’s cattle.
Think of dark Krishna.
“You are not seeing straight.
But tomorrow, I will destroy their allies,
including Drupada’s Panchalas—except
Shikhandin. I will defeat them, or, if not,
I will yield to death.”
Duryodhana
bowed his head, and went back to his tent
where he slept through the night. The next morning,
he announced that Bhishma would accomplish
the defeat of the Pandavas’ strongest allies.
“But he vows that he will not fight Shikhandin.
Therefore, we must take every precaution—
protect him zealously at every turn
against attack from that effeminate prince.”
Bhishma disposed his troops in a square array,
himself in the front rank. Yudhishthira
rode at the head of the Pandava army
flanked by his brothers and by Abhimanyu.
As the armies surged toward each other
accompanied by all the din of war
the sun was dimmed, winds blew, huge birds of prey
hung over the field with raucous screams.
The elephants and horses, sensing menace,
rolled their eyes, and pissed and shat in terror.
Each side longed for today to be decisive;
they were sick of deadlock. Abhimanyu,
with all the energy of youth, sprang forward
and, like a swimmer entering the ocean,
plunged deep among the Kauravas, advancing,
dealing death on every side of him.
All who saw him marveled at his skill.
Duryodhana sent in the rakshasa
Alambusha to attack the sons of Kunti.
The Pandavas severely wounded him
so he became unconscious for a while.
But, recovering, the ogre roared with pain
and rage, swelling to twice his normal size,
and destroyed the bows, standards and chariots
of many of the Pandava ranks, forcing
their withdrawal. Swiftly, Abhimanyu,
slim and agile, challenged the bulky monster
and the fight that followed was like the one
between the gods and demons in ancient days,
illusion pitched against celestial weapons
and sheer martial skill.
At last, Alambusha,
pierced with many arrows, created darkness,
reducing the whole field of men to blind,
stumbling impotence. Calm and undeceived,
Abhimanyu invoked the solar weapon,
bringing brilliant sunlight. Then the ogre,
his tricks exhausted, gave up the fight and ran.
Exhilarated, Abhimanyu turned
back to attack the Kaurava battalions,
killing men by the thousand.
Now, Drona
and Arjuna were fighting one to one.
How could they do this with a firm intent,
summon the resolve to inflict harm,
when they had been so dear to one another?
The warrior code was paramount, outweighing
every tie of loyalty and love.
So it was that they perfectly displayed
the highest pinnacle of martial craft,
and each admired the skill shown by the other.
Meanwhile, Bhishma was heavily engaged
with waves of Pandavas, whom he dispatched
with ease, though Virata and Drupada
pierced him with many arrows. Dhrishtadyumna
also wounded him, and then Shikhandin
shot more than twenty arrows into him.
Bhishma’s blood flowed, but though he destroyed
Drupada’s bow and wounded Dhrishtadyumna
he ignored Shikhandin. Duryodhana
ordered reinforcements to shield Bhishma—
thousands of horsemen led by Shakuni—
which, wounded though he was, enabled him
to inflict more harm. In the general battle
which followed, bewildered men and animals
ran around, aimless, looking for direction,
as bodies were dashed, bleeding, to the ground,
heaped up, to be crushed by chariot wheels
and trampled by milling troops. It was soon clear
the Pandava force was disintegrating
under Bhishma’s strong, relentless onslaught.
Krishna cried to Arjuna: “Your vow!
The time has come for Bhishma to be killed,
before he utterly destroys your army.
Make your words true!” Arjuna looked anguished.
“The alternatives seem terrible to me—
to end up in hell, or win the kingdom
by killing those whom I should honor most.
Nevertheless, guided by you, I’ll do it.”
Krishna drove the chariot forward. Bhishma
let loose at Arjuna a stream of arrows
and Arjuna aimed, deflecting all of them
and splitting Bhishma’s bow. The patriarch
quickly strung another, but Arjuna
smashed that one too. “Very well done!” cried Bhishma,
and taking another finely crafted bow,
he rained Arjuna’s chariot with arrows.
Krishna, with great skill, avoided them
as he steered the horses round in circles.
The exchange continued, more like a display
than a fight to the death. Keen-eyed Krishna,
perceiving that Arjuna was holding back
while Bhishma was so ruthlessly attacking
the Pandava troops, could no longer bear it.
For the second time, leaping from the chariot,
whip in hand, only bare arms for weapons,
Krishna rushed furiously toward Bhishma
and all who saw him gasped, as if Bhishma
were dead already. Krishna looked beautiful,
his yellow silk robes streaming out behind him
as he ran, his smooth skin dark and glowing
like lapis lazuli. When Bhishma saw him
he raised his bow and, with a fearless heart,
said, “I am ready. Strike me down in battle
and I shall die in tranquillity and joy.”
But Arjuna grabbed Krishna and held him back,
seething as he was with rage. “Stop, Krishna!
I will not let you make your vow untrue—
this burden is mine, and mine alone.
I swear I will do whatever it may take
to destroy the enemy.” Without a word,
angry still, Krishna remounted the chariot.
Bhishma resumed his battle with the Pandavas,
inflicting death on an enormous scale,
creating panic and the wildest chaos
until, as evening came, they fled the field
like confused cattle, floundering in mud.
The troops found no protector on that day.
In the Kaurava camp, there was rejoicing.
Bhishma was worshiped for his feats. Calmly
he retired to his tent in solitude.
The Pandavas had been put to rout. Grieving
at the loss of so many brave warriors,
Yudhishthira called his generals together.
All were despondent at the day’s events.
Yudhishthira was in despair. “Oh, Krishna,
I am the cause of all these tragic deaths.
Bhishma is unbeatable—he crushes men
as an elephant tramples a bamboo grove.
He is like a fire licking up dry grass.
I value life; I am wasting it.
Tell me what I can do, within the bounds
of the duty laid upon me by my rank.”
Krishna said, “I understand your sorrow.
But Bhishma is not invincible. Arjuna
has greater skills in war than other men;
he can kill Bhishma if he will decide to,
or, if he is reluctant, I will do it.
I am your friend and kinsman—natural, then,
that I should fight for you. But Arjuna
swore to us in Upaplavya, that he
would kill Bhishma—the time to act is now,
if he wishes not to be called a liar.
It is a question of resolve, not skill.”
Yudhishthira agreed. “But listen, Krishna,
I do not want to be responsible
for causing you to break your vow. Your presence
is priceless to me. You will not need to fight.
Before the beginning of this dreadful war,
Bhishma told me he could not fight for me,
but he could advise me. The time has come
to speak to him again. He was our father
when we came fatherless to Hastinapura.
Even now, I believe he wishes us well.”
After divesting themselves of their armor,
Yudhishthira and his brothers, with Krishna,
walked to Bhishma’s tent. Bhishma received them
lovingly, and with the greatest joy,
asking them in what way he could serve them.
Yudhishthira said, “Grandfather, you know
everything. You stand high on your chariot
radiant as the sun. Today, your skill
brought devastation to our troops. Tell me,
how may we defeat you?”
“While I am alive,”
said Bhishma, “you cannot obtain victory,
so you should strike me down without delay
and save yourselves days of useless carnage.
This is what you must do. I will not fight
in inauspicious circumstances, therefore
I will not fight Shikhandin, for the reason
that you know. Let Arjuna advance
toward me, with Shikhandin in front of him.
He may then attack me—I shall be defenseless.
Then, only then, your victory will be certain.”
Grateful, sorrowful, the Pandavas
returned to their own camp. The Terrifier
felt even more tormented than before.
To be responsible for Bhishma’s death
on the advice of the old man himself
seemed to him unbearable. “I remember
how I used to climb onto his lap
and dirty his clothes in my thoughtlessness,
yet he never said a reproachful word.
I used to call him Father, and he would say,
Not your father, child, but your father’s father.
How can I kill this man who nurtured me,
who is so dear to me? I cannot do it!”
“You have to do it, Arjuna,” said Krishna.
“You made a vow—you must do your duty
as a kshatriya, acting without malice
and without grief. Besides, all these events
are preordained. Bhishma himself knows this.”
36.
THE FALL OF BHISHMA
Sanjaya described the tenth day of the war:
Soon after dawn, O king, the Pandavas
advanced toward the enemy, to the din
of drums and trumpets, shouts, the bray of conches:
the sounds of warriors thirsting for the fight.
Shikhandin rode out in front, ably guarded
on either side by Arjuna and Bhima.
Close behind came rank upon rank of warriors,
men in their thousands, armor flashing fire,
formed into well-disciplined battalions.
The Kauravas were led by mighty Bhishma,
protected by the sons of Dhritarashtra.
Battle was joined, a vigorous attack
from each side, leaving many hundreds dead
within the first half hour. The Pandavas
seemed at first to have the upper hand
but Bhishma, full of energy, then launched
a savage onslaught, scorching the division
led by Shikhandin, who in turn let fly
dozens of arrows, many piercing Bhishma.
Bhishma laughe
d, “You can do what you like,
I will never fight you. You may call yourself
a warrior, but be sure I know you still
as the woman the Creator made you!”
Shikhandin, mad with rage, replied, “Bhishma,
fight me or not, I swear to you this day
will be your last!” Saying this, he pierced
Bhishma in the chest with five straight arrows.
But the noble son of Ganga merely shrugged.
“Shikhandin, you must strain every sinew,”
cried Arjuna, “or you’ll be a laughingstock!
You must kill Bhishma. I will keep at bay
the great Kaurava chariot warriors
coming to his defense. Do it now!”
Arjuna led the Pandavas in aiming
a storm of arrows at where the Kauravas
were least well protected. Many thousands
were cut down, and others put to flight,
scattering randomly across the field.
Duryodhana, in great distress, cried out,
“Bhishma! My troops are flying like headless birds,
despite your skill. You are their only hope.”
“Listen,” said Bhishma, “I made you a promise
that I would kill ten thousand Pandava men
every day. This I have done. Today
either I myself will die in battle,
or I will slaughter the brave sons of Pandu.
Either way, I will discharge my debt
for the food I have consumed at your expense!”
Bhishma renewed his attack like one inspired,
like one who had cast off his life already.
The arc of his bow was a perfect circle.
He shone, resplendent as a smokeless flame,
seeming to be everywhere at once,
dazzling all who saw him. Hundreds and thousands
of the Panchalas led by Drupada
fought their last fight. Elephants and horses
by the thousand were reduced to carcasses.
Arjuna advanced toward Bhishma,
Shikhandin in front of him—but then was stopped
by Duhshasana. They fought. Your son
was a worthy match for Arjuna. Both men
are great chariot warriors and, at first,
Duhshasana held back the Pandava
as a cliff might stand against the raging sea.
He wounded the son of Kunti in the head.
Furious, Arjuna split your son’s bow,
then hit him with a torrent of sharp arrows.
Duhshasana fought like a true hero
despite his many wounds, but Arjuna
beat him back, and at last he retreated
to help protect the patriarch’s chariot.
The day wore on. There were many duels
between opposing heroes. Abhimanyu,
dark like his uncle, tall as a shala tree,