and keep his mind fixed on the main objective.
“What?” cried Drona, “Are you giving up
on an opponent who is not yet beaten?”
“You are not my opponent,” said Arjuna,
turning away from him, “but my dear master.”
Mounting an assault on Drona’s forces,
Arjuna released a thousand arrows
in the time a normal fighter would fire ten.
Kauravas fell by the hundred. Pandavas
also suffered losses. And Arjuna
was knocked senseless by a well-aimed lance
flung by Shrutayus. Quickly recovering,
he invoked the Shakra weapon, which spewed out
many thousands of straight and speedy arrows,
and the Kauravas were washed glistening red
as bloody fountains sprang from elephants,
horses and men, splashing to the ground.
Gaining, yard by yard, Krishna drove forward
until at last they broke through Drona’s lines
and shattered the well-planned lotus formation
as the Kauravas scattered in disarray.
Horrified, Duryodhana rushed over
to where Drona stood. “It’s a disaster!
Arjuna is scorching our infantry
like a raging fire consuming tinder.
It is as if my troops were feeble children!
How long have you eaten at my table?
I have pampered you in every way,
yet I know your heart is with the Pandavas—
I was a fool to trust you!” Drona sighed.
He was expecting this; Duryodhana
could not bear things not to go his way
and had to find somewhere to pin the blame.
The tantrum soon passed. “Forgive me, Drona—
put it down to rage and disappointment.
We must at all costs guard Jayadratha.
What hinders you?”
“It’s the sheer speed,” said Drona.
“Those horses are the finest in the world,
and Krishna drives with supernatural skill,
swerving, dodging through the smallest gaps.
I am not young, pace is not my strength.
I propose that you protect Jayadratha,
block the Pandava from getting near him,
while I attempt to seize Yudhishthira.”
“But how can I do that,” groaned Duryodhana,
“when even you have failed? The gods themselves
couldn’t stop him.”
“I have a solution,”
said Drona; and he gave Duryodhana
a gleaming, finely wrought golden breastplate
and fastened it on, chanting secret mantras,
tying it with sacred Brahma strings.
Pausing only to receive Drona’s blessings,
Duryodhana, restored to confidence
and followed by the hosts of the Trigartas,
set out to do battle with Arjuna.
Bent on capturing Yudhishthira,
Drona turned to the front of the array
where he sought to hold back Dhrishtadyumna,
advancing at the head of a vast force.
Drupada’s son aimed to divide and conquer.
Drona tried to stop him, but repeatedly
the Kauravas were split in three. One part
gravitated toward Kritavarman,
hotly harassed by Yudhishthira;
another coalesced round Jalasandha,
chased by mace-wielding Bhima; while a third,
harried by the brilliant Dhrishtadyumna,
gathered around Drona. Fighting was fierce;
shafts of sunlight struggling through clouds of dust
made seeing difficult, but showers of arrows,
loosed with no special target, found a mark
in man and beast alike.
Dhrishtadyumna
urged his charioteer, “Quickly! Approach
Drona, that boastful warrior, that great teacher,
that brahmin traitor to his natural calling!”
Then the two accomplished fighters clashed.
It was a spectacle—all around them
other fighting stopped, so men could watch
the consummate display of archery,
the two well matched, making little headway
against each other. Then Drishtadyumna
rashly leapt up onto Drona’s chariot,
poised on the backs of his rust-red horses
to fight him hand to hand. It was a feat
to remember. But Drona knocked away
his sword, wounding him in many places
and, if Satyaki had not rescued him,
and himself taken on the fight with Drona,
it could have been the end for Dhrishtadyumna.
Satyaki and Drona fought like gods—
fiercely, but with finesse and self-possession.
The sky grew overcast as clouds of arrows
blotted out the sun, and soon they both
ran with blood. Each hoped for victory,
and other warriors stood around, watching,
gripped by such astounding mastery.
(At heart, Drona, too, applauded Satyaki,
noting that he had learned from Arjuna
skills Drona himself had taught the Pandava.)
Both were masters of celestial weapons,
and each of them could neutralize the other.
Neither won. Eventually, Yudhishthira
called his troops to arms, and general battle
was resumed.
Now the white sun had started
on its inexorable downward course
toward the outline of the Asta hills.
Krishna and Arjuna, with their divisions,
forced a passage through the Kaurava ranks,
their sights set steadfastly on Jayadratha.
Arjuna, with his limitless supply
of iron-tipped arrows, inflicted dreadful harm,
but the Kauravas had too much at stake
to slacken their resolve.
So did Arjuna.
The going was hard. The chariot maintained
enormous speed, and still the Terrifier
was killing men a league ahead of him.
No chariot had moved as fast before.
It moved with the speed of imagination,
the speed of thought, the speed of rapt desire.
But the horses were becoming tired.
Krishna was concerned. “We must unyoke them,
remove their arrows, give them time to breathe.
And they need to drink, but there is no water.”
Arjuna shot an arrow at the ground
and at once a sparkling lake appeared,
with water birds and dense, shade-giving trees.
Then he made a shelter out of arrows
and, while he held back the Kauravas,
Krishna led the horses under it
and calmly unyoking them from the chariot,
rubbed and stroked them with an expert touch
so they revived from their fatigue and wounds.
To unyoke horses in the midst of battle!
Such a thing had never been done before.
Seeing this, at first the Kaurava troops
roared in triumph; surely now they had him,
heroic Arjuna, on foot and alone!
But, calm and focused, the great Pandava
raked your forces with his powerful weapons.
“Just our luck!” groaned some of them. “Duryodhana
has set us up as sacrificial sheep.
He doesn’t seem to understand that no one
can defeat Arjuna. King Jayadratha
is a dead man already. Duryodhana
should make arrangements for his funeral rites.”
Now, with the horses rested, Krishna drove
furiou
sly forward, sweeping aside
all attempts to block their headlong progress.
The two heroes shone like twin dazzling suns.
At last, they caught a glimpse of Jayadratha
with Duryodhana protecting him.
Joy seized them. Now Arjuna roared in rage
and exultation. “Even Indra himself
with all the celestials could not save him now!”
They advanced all the faster, hooves thundering,
terrible ape banner striking terror
into the heart of the cowering Sindhu king.
“Attack Duryodhana!” shouted Krishna.
“It’s time to kill that wicked ill-wisher,
that greedy villain!”
“Drive on!” cried Arjuna,
remembering his cousin’s many wrongs.
Duryodhana jeered, “Come on, son of Pandu,
fight me if you dare! Show everyone
if this great prowess people talk about
is real heroism, or empty talk!”
Arjuna took aim and loosed his arrows
at Duryodhana, who stood there, laughing
as the shafts bounced harmlessly off his armor
time after time. Krishna was astonished.
Arjuna realized: “The villain’s armor
must have been tied onto him by Drona.
But I know a mantra that will make him
vulnerable again, a powerful weapon.”
He invoked that weapon, but before
it reached Duryodhana, it was deflected
by Drona, from a distance. If Arjuna
had invoked the weapon a second time
it would have killed his own troops, and himself.
Instead, he used his ordinary skill
to kill Duryodhana’s charioteer and horses
and smash his chariot. He then shot off
your son’s leather gauntlets, and pierced his hands.
Krishna blew his conch Panchajanya,
Arjuna gave a blast on Devadatta,
and the Kaurava forces stood stupefied.
Meanwhile Drona tried again to capture
Yudhishthira, but the king was whisked away
on Sahadeva’s chariot. Alambusha
now lusted to avenge his monstrous brother.
Ghatotkacha advanced to fight with him.
He plucked him from his chariot, whirled him round
as though he were a doll, and flung him down
onto the ground where, like a brittle pot,
he was dashed to fragments.
Yudhishthira
had picked up the sound of conches blown
by Krishna and Arjuna, and he was fearful
for their safety. He spoke to Satyaki,
consumed by anxiety, tears in his eyes,
and told him to go to Arjuna’s defense.
Satyaki, fast as lightning in the field,
was slow in his reactions otherwise.
Arjuna had told him to guard his brother
and guard Yudhishthira he must. Desperate,
Yudhishthira was forced to press him hard:
“Arjuna may be in mortal danger
floundering in an ocean of Kauravas!
You, Satyaki, have always been our mainstay,
second only to Krishna in weaponry.
You must obey me.” Satyaki was perplexed
since he owed obedience to Arjuna,
his teacher, just as he did to his leader;
and Arjuna had said . . . So the conundrum
went round and round in poor Satyaki’s mind.
At last, reluctant, he agreed to go,
but only after repeating once again
Arjuna’s parting words to him; and after
assuring Yudhishthira that Arjuna
was bound to be quite safe, and did not need
rescuing by him. “And another thing,
who will protect you from Drona while I’m gone?”
Yudhishthira assured him Dhrishtadyumna
and Bhima would be constantly at his side.
“Very well, I’ll go,” said Satyaki.
“Let no one think me slow to obey orders.
I have your interests constantly before me
as I do Arjuna’s. I’ll follow him
and battle by his side until he slaughters
Jayadratha. I shall scourge the Kauravas.
Like fire, I shall certainly destroy them.
But please arrange to have the proper weapons
placed in my chariot in the correct places—
in fact, let five times as many weapons
as usual be provided.” Then Satyaki
went to his tent and took a ritual bath,
changed his clothes, drank honey for energy,
gave gifts to brahmins to secure good fortune
and, saying goodbye to Yudhishthira,
was finally off. The sun was sinking fast.
Following the route blazed by Arjuna,
Satyaki sliced through the Kaurava lines,
killing hundreds. Again, he encountered Drona,
but wasted no time fighting him. Instead
he told his charioteer to find a passage
between the separate divisions led
by Drona and Karna.
Now he had set his mind
on his objective, all his mastery
and his celestial weapons came into play.
At one point he dueled with Duhshasana
but with restraint, remembering Bhima’s oath.
Duhshasana ran for Drona’s protection.
“Why are you fleeing from the fight, my son?”
asked Drona scornfully. “You were brave enough
when you insulted Draupadi. Where now
is your pride and insolence? What will you do
when you are up against real opposition,
faced with Arjuna the invincible?
If you are that frightened, urge your brother
to make a just peace with the Pandavas.”
Once again, Drona and Dhrishtadyumna
met in battle. They wounded each other badly,
Drona, white-haired, eighty-five years old,
fought like a youth. In fact, the rumor spread
that this was Indra himself, armed with thunder.
Yudhishthira was desperate to know
what was happening to Arjuna.
Again he heard Krishna’s conch, and was afraid—
suppose it meant his brother had been killed?
He said to Bhima, “I’m seeing Arjuna,
seeing him in my mind—his tall, straight form,
his shining hair and dark skin, his strong arms.
I cannot see his standard, so I fear
he has been overwhelmed. And Satyaki—
what has become of him? You, my Bhima,
must go and find out. Dhrishtadyumna here
can certainly protect me from abduction.”
Bhima set off, though with some reluctance,
and found that Arjuna was fighting strongly.
He uttered a great roar, and Yudhishthira,
hearing it, was reassured. Then Karna,
that hero endowed with preternatural skill,
desiring battle, his first formal duel
of the war, mounted an assault on Bhima.
What a fight that was! The two great warriors
fought differently—Karna graceful, subtle,
Bhima more dependent on sheer strength,
but accurate for all that. Each let loose
hundreds of arrows. Roaring still, Bhima
bisected Karna’s bow, then wounded him
with ten straight shafts. Seizing another bow,
Karna shot a lightning cascade of arrows.
Bhima blocked them. Then, with broad-headed shafts,
he killed Karna’s charioteer and horses,
and all the while he smiled and roared with pleasure.
Karna quickly mounted his son’s chariot
and fought on; but, mindful of the promise
he had made to Kunti, he fought with restraint.
Soon, the heroes were bristling with arrows
sticking out all over, like porcupines,
and blood flowed down over their golden mail,
rendering it coppery. They exchanged
insults: “You contemptible driver’s son!”
“Eunuch! You lumbering half-wit! You glutton!”
Seeing Karna hard pressed, Duryodhana
sent one of his brothers, Durjaya,
to support him. It was not long before
Bhima sliced his head from his body. Later,
after Karna had twice more had his chariot
smashed to bits beneath him, another brother,
Durmukha, came—and met with the same fate.
Then Duryodhana sent several more
of your sons, each of whom was felled
by the furious Bhima. Karna, grieving
and feeling responsible for all these deaths,
withdrew from the fighting for a while
and ritually walked around each body
out of respect for these fallen princes
who for years had been like his own brothers.
Dhritarashtra interrupted Sanjaya:
“Something in your tale is disturbing me.
Duryodhana pins all his hopes of victory
on Karna. This war was only started
because the driver’s son assured my boy
that he could annihilate the Pandavas.
But (as you have told me) he has promised
that he will not kill Kunti’s other sons,
only Arjuna. I am wondering, then,
how can Karna, with his heart divided,
act completely for Duryodhana’s good?
“But these things are beyond my comprehension.
It is time, after all, that will decide.”
Sanjaya continued:
Bhima began to make his way to where
Arjuna and Krishna could be found.
But Karna followed him. Breathing hot sighs,
keen to avenge the dead Kaurava princes,
keen, too, to prove his worth to Duryodhana,
Karna shot a cloud of golden arrows
radiating in a shining blur
like the sun itself. So many were there
it was as if they sprang not just from his bow
but from all round his chariot. The arrows,
beautifully fletched with peacock feathers,
were like a flight of the most lovely birds.
And he himself was radiant: tall, handsome,
crowned with a chaplet of blue lotuses.
Bhima, remembering his former wrongs,