that I can kill him. Give me a word of comfort.”
“My child,” said Bhishma, “your great loyalty
to your friends is legendary. In warfare,
remember all you have achieved till now—
the kingdoms conquered for Duryodhana.
The Kambojas, the Kiratas, the Kalingas
and many other clans were brought by you,
by fearlessness and through sheer martial skill,
into the fold of our expanding kingdom.
Be to your friends as Vishnu to the gods.
Firm of purpose, be an inspiration,
lead them on the path which you have chosen.”
Karna, cheered by these auspicious words,
stooped to touch the feet of the patriarch.
Then he rode back to the Kaurava camp.
Duryodhana drew great reassurance
from Karna’s firm resolve. He told himself
that Bhishma’s heart had been with the Pandavas—
that was why he had not defeated them.
But Karna was a warrior whose loyalty
was beyond question. He asked his friend’s advice:
“Now that Bhishma is no longer with us,
who should take his place as supreme commander?”
Karna replied, “There are many great contenders
but the one who stands above them all
is Drona, the wise teacher. He should be asked.
Only he can command the confidence
of every warrior in your fighting force.”
Humbly, and with lavish words of praise,
Duryodhana approached the old master
and, to the frenzied cheering of the troops,
appointed him to lead the entire army.
“I am honored,” he said. “The Pandavas
will find it difficult to fight with me.
But I cannot kill Dhrishtadyumna,
son of Drupada; that man is destined
to be the death of me. Now, you should say
what is the outcome that would please you most,
and, if I can, I shall accomplish it.”
“Well then,” said cunning Duryodhana,
“I want you to seize Yudhishthira alive
and bring him to me.” Drona was astonished.
Did Duryodhana perhaps intend,
after all, to give up half the kingdom?
“But why do you not seek his death?” he asked.
Duryodhana smiled. “If Yudhishthira dies,
I can’t win. Arjuna would never rest
until he had slaughtered every one of us.
But as my prisoner, saintly Yudhishthira
can be enticed into another dice game,
which he will lose, and off he’ll have to go
back to the forest, and his brothers with him.
There we are! The kingdom remains mine.”
Drona disliked this plan, but he had promised
to do his best to fulfill the prince’s wish.
“I can attempt so bold a capture only
if Arjuna can somehow be drawn away,
leaving Yudhishthira without protection.”
“You had better succeed,” said Duryodhana,
suspecting him of partiality
toward the Pandavas. He then ensured
that Drona’s promise was made known to all,
so he could not renege—with the result
that Yudhishthira came to know of it.
Arjuna promised he would be protected.
With ceremony and with great rejoicing
the army witnessed Drona’s consecration.
Then he ordered the troops into battle lines
with Karna leading the chariot warriors.
The driver’s son, though he was now deprived
of the breastplate and earrings he was born with,
glowed with a golden light, tall and beautiful,
and all who saw him felt their hearts lift, thinking,
“Bhishma is lost to us, but we have Karna;
Karna will save us from catastrophe.”
Staring at him across no-man’s-land,
Arjuna stood resplendent on his chariot,
Gandiva at his side, the monkey banner
fluttering above him. At the reins
was Krishna, with his discus, Sudarshana,
a luminous circle hanging in his hand
as though he held the wheel of time itself.
Karna, Arjuna: perfectly matched archers,
each with the other’s death within his sights.
Which would inflict defeat upon the other?
As the armies surged across the field
the earth shuddered and, from the glowering sky,
a torrent of blood and bones poured down, and vultures,
jackals and other scavengers appeared,
White-haired Drona, as though a youth again,
scorched the well-trained Pandava divisions
like whirling fire consuming a great forest,
his reserve of celestial weapons raining
death onto the struggling enemy.
His bow was like a bolt of monsoon lightning
flashing amidst dark clouds of deadly arrows.
The ground was slippery with blood, and marrow
oozed from the mangled bodies of the dead—
numberless heroes now already traveling
to Yama’s realm. Soon it was a crimson
river of blood, swirling with severed limbs
and broken chariots.
Careful Yudhishthira,
mindful of the plan to capture him,
asked Arjuna to stay close. The Terrifier
assured him the stars would tumble from the sky
before Duryodhana would have his way.
“It’s true that I would rather lose my life
than fight Drona, to whom I owe everything.
But my promise to you stands—I have never
made a vow and left it unredeemed.”
Watching from some vantage point, O king,
a connoisseur of horses could have counted
horses dappled like the antelope,
horses pale as the moon, pale as milk,
pigeon-colored horses, dark blue stallions,
horses the color of fresh mustard flowers,
horses red as the red deer, with flashes
of startling white on their chests and necks,
dark spotted horses, others honey brown,
still others black as impenetrable night,
beautiful cream horses with black manes,
glossy chargers gleaming like polished wood;
delicate Sindhu horses, dusky as smoke—
so many lovely ones, thousands and thousands,
many decorated with gold chains,
yoked to splendid chariots.
And above them
flew the gorgeous individual standards
of each chariot warrior: Drona’s, black
deerskin, emblazoned with a water vessel.
Bhima’s bore a gigantic silver lion,
its eyes picked out in lapis lazuli;
Yudhishthira’s had a golden moon device
with planets circling it; Sahadeva’s
bore a silver goose, and Abhimanyu’s
a sharngaka bird, bright as beaten gold.
On Ghatotkacha’s standard was a vulture,
and his enchanted horses were capable
of flying through the air as he commanded.
But in the desperate battle, there was no time
for appreciation. There was only
confusion, fear, anger, mad excitement
and savage joy as arrows or spears sank home
and enemies fell, wounded, dead or dying.”
Countless heroes engaged in single combat—
Bhima inflicted wounds on Vivinshati;
Shakuni felled Sahadeva’s charioteer;
Shikhandin, adept at all types of weapon,
pierced Bhurishravas with ninety shafts,
causing him to tremble and retreat.
Shalya hit his nephew Nakula,
smiling as if it were a joke. Nakula,
furious, shot Shalya’s bow out of his hand.
Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s heroic son,
alight with zeal, fought like one inspired,
leaping from ground to chariot and back
like a gymnast, wielding bow and sword.
Shalya fought with Bhima. They resembled
two massive elephants, circling each other,
each with a hefty mace. Sparks flew up
as their weapons clashed like thunderbolts.
They hit each other simultaneously
and both were stunned. Then Kritavarman hauled
Shalya into his chariot and drove him off.
At the sight of this retreat, the Kauravas
felt despondent—and indeed, the tide
was turning in favor of the Pandavas.
Drona made more than one attempt to reach
Yudhishthira, but he was beaten back
and hit with many arrows. Then, in rage,
he advanced toward Yudhishthira’s chariot
looking like all-destroying Death himself.
All the Pandavas who saw him coming
cried in alarm, “Yudhishthira is lost!”
But Arjuna, seeming to spring from nowhere,
killing men by the hundred as he came,
covered Drona’s troops with a shower of arrows
so dense, the sky turned black. And in due time
the sun itself was setting. Drona ordered
withdrawal for the night.
He was cast down.
He had fought hard, had inflicted damage,
forcing an opening through the Pandavas,
yet he had been unable to deliver
Yudhishthira as Duryodhana had asked.
He knew the prince was likely to suspect him
of lacking determination. “I told you,”
said Drona, “that to take Yudhishthira
would be impossible with Arjuna by.
Tomorrow, if Arjuna can be distracted,
I’ll lay hold of Yudhishthira—you’ll see.”
The Trigartas, who hated Arjuna
for past humiliations, volunteered
to challenge him to combat at a place
a little distance off. They were five brothers,
brave kshatriyas and skillful fighters,
whose frequent and abundant gifts to brahmins
assured them of good fortune in the field
or, if not, in the afterlife. They led
a strong alliance—brave, committed forces.
Priests presided over a consecration
and the Trigartas swore a solemn vow
to conquer, or to die in the attempt.
“Arjuna will never refuse a challenge.
If we retreat, may we share the fate
of the most heinous sinners in the world.
Let the earth be rid of Arjuna,
or let it see the death of the Trigartas!”
Sanjaya continued:
As they had predicted, Arjuna
was fired up by the prospect of the fight.
Yudhishthira was worried, but Arjuna
assured him that Satyajit, Drupada’s son,
would surround him with a large defensive force.
“But if Satyajit should be killed in battle,
then you should quit the field immediately.”
Then, with a picked band of champion fighters,
Arjuna rode out after the Trigartas
like a hungry lion, avid for the kill.
Sighting him, the Trigartas raised a cry,
exultant and threatening. Arjuna smiled.
“Listen to them,” he said to dark-skinned Krishna,
“shouting with joy when they should be terrified.
But, after all, perhaps they should be joyful,
bound for a place where no fool can pester them.”
Though the Trigartas and their men were full
of resolution, at the dreadful sound
of Devadatta, Arjuna’s conch, they froze
as if in thrall, deprived of all volition.
Recovering, they loosed a rain of arrows
which Arjuna intercepted in mid-flight.
There followed a tremendous battle. Krishna
drove the chariot swiftly, skillfully,
and wherever Arjuna advanced,
hundreds died. At the same time, the Trigartas
unleashed such a punishing storm of arrows
that Krishna and Arjuna could hardly see
and were wounded countless times. The Trigartas,
counting on victory, were overjoyed,
cheering, waving their garments in the air.
But Arjuna employed the Tvashtri weapon
to create illusion, so Trigartas
fought Trigartas thinking they were killing
Arjuna. Men, mounted or on foot,
scattered like rats fleeing a hungry hound.
But the Trigartas were not beaten yet.
In fury, they kept fighting back, releasing
torrents of arrows and razor-edged spears.
Then, with broad-headed shafts, Arjuna
dispatched thousands of the enemy,
slicing off their helmeted heads, their hands
still grasping weapons. Billowing clouds of dust
stirred up by the frenzy of the battle
were turned to mud by copious showers of blood
spilled by Arjuna. So terrifying
was his assault on the Trigarta troops
that at one point they started to retreat
in fear, until their king exhorted them:
“Are you deathless heroes—or are you cowards?
Have you not sworn to conquer or to die?
Return! Redeem your pledge, no matter what!”
So it was that the Trigartas fought
on and on, until the land was littered
with mutilated bodies, dead and dying
jumbled one on another. The air rang
with a cacophony of groans and cries.
The blood-soaked earth resembled a broad field
of poppies, stretching out in all directions.
Anxious for Yudhishthira, Arjuna
and Krishna turned toward the main battle.
There, Drona, bent on seizing Yudhishthira,
led his men in an eagle formation—
the wings outstretched, the back made up of hosts
of foot soldiers, chariots, elephants.
At the tail rode Karna, tall, magnificent,
leading his troops, allies, friends and kinsmen.
Kings, warriors, were glorious in the sun,
their banners flying, armor flashing light;
some rode high on mountainous elephants.
The entire army was in fighting fettle,
mad with lust for blood and victory.
Seeing them advance like a tidal wave,
knowing their whole intent was to capture him,
Yudhishthira turned to Dhrishtadyumna. “Friend,
you should do whatever is necessary
to prevent my being taken prisoner.”
Drupada’s son reassured him. At once
he shouted to his charioteer to gallop
straight for Drona. The teacher’s heart quaked,
knowing that Dhrishtadyumna would bring his death.
But one of your valiant sons, Durmukha,
rushed to his defense, and fought so fiercely
with Dhrishtadyumna that Drona got away
and began to slaughter the Pandava army
in huge numbers. Soon any resemblance
to two disciplined forces disappeared.
Each man lashed out wildly, with no regard
for battle etiquette or decency.
To spectators looking down on them
the scene was like the panic-stricken stampede
of cattle when a tiger comes among them,
trampling each other in blind desperation
to survive.
Sighting Yudhishthira,
Drona made toward him, but at once
a warning cry rose from a thousand throats
as the Pandava forces saw the danger.
Satyajit, as he had promised Arjuna,
loosed a powerful weapon spiked with venom.
Drona’s charioteer fell senseless. Next,
the horses were attacked, and Satyajit,
circling Drona, cut down his fine standard.
Drona resolved that this would be the last
battle for Satyajit, and though that hero
fought courageously and skillfully,
at last his head was severed from his shoulders,
earrings flashing as it fell to earth.
Then Yudhishthira turned his chariot
drawn by superb horses, and retreated.
Drona focused on the Panchalas.
He and his forces set about destroying
everything in their path. As a thunderstorm
pelts the helpless earth with vicious hailstones
so he assaulted the Panchala divisions.
Seeing it, Duryodhana laughed with joy
and said to Karna, “Look at the devastation
our forces are inflicting on the allies
of the Pandavas—falling by the thousand!
They can never recover after this.”
Karna was less confident. “The Pandavas
will not collapse so easily. Look there—
Bhima is surrounded by our warriors.
It may look hopeless, but with his huge strength
he has killed hundreds of our men already.
You can be sure that he is remembering
the wrongs he and his family have suffered
because of us—Ekachakra . . . Draupadi . . .
We should provide Drona with reinforcements.”
Duryodhana clashed with Bhima, each leading
an elephant division, the animals
splendidly decked out, their curving tusks
filed to cruel points. Huge as hills, cheeks trickling
with juices, the Kaurava beasts were quickly
mangled by Bhima’s arrows, and swerved away,
spurting blood. Then Duryodhana struck Bhima,
and Wolf-belly, eyes glowing red with rage,
released a shower of arrows in return,
hoping to send his cousin to Yama’s realm.
Bhagadatta, King of Pragjyotisha,
long-standing ally of Duryodhana,
renowned elephant warrior, joined the fight.