eagerly responded. A roaring tempest,
he scattered the discouraged Kauravas
like fragile leaves sent flying in the wind.
Soon his arrows were drinking Karna’s blood,
and thirty-one of your sons, O majesty,
died in that fracas.
Now Duryodhana
remembered how wise Vidura, his uncle,
had warned him that events in the gaming hall,
the insults suffered by the Pandavas,
would bear bitter fruit. But this recall
did not set him on a saner path
though, even now, he could have stopped the war
by acting rightly.
Bhima roared with joy,
gladdening the heart of Yudhishthira
as he launched his troops against Drona
some way off. Bhima’s duel with Karna
became a spectacle, with celestial beings—
rishis, siddhas and gandharvas—applauding
and showering the combatants with petals.
Bhima, though full of rage, knew that Arjuna
had Karna marked out as his own opponent,
so aimed to hurt, rather than to kill him.
Finally, Bhima’s weapons were used up.
Karna harried him and struck him senseless.
Recovering, he seized what came to hand—
chariot wheels, elephants’ severed limbs—
and flung them at his opponent.
“You’re a child!”
jeered Karna, “What do you think you’re doing?
Children don’t belong on the battlefield.
Go to the woods! Gather fruits for your dinner.”
and he touched Bhima lightly on the chest
with his bow-end. Bhima laughed scornfully.
“Haven’t I always got the better of you,
you wicked bastard?” And he turned away.
“Satyaki is approaching,” said Krishna.
“Yudhishthira must have ordered him
to join you; as he comes, he is dispatching
Kauravas by the hundred. Satyaki,
your friend and disciple, is truly great.”
Arjuna was not pleased. “My instructions
were to guard Yudhishthira. Now Drona,
like a circling hawk, will swoop on him.
“And look—you can see Satyaki’s in trouble:
he is tired, his weapons all but spent,
and now he is being attacked by Bhurishravas,
that formidable fighter! This is too much!
Yudhishthira was wrong to send him here.
Now I have to worry about him
and about Yudhishthira, and somehow
slaughter Jayadratha before sunset!”
Bhurishravas, strong and menacing,
advanced on Satyaki. “Today, my friend,
prepare to die. The wives of all those heroes
whom you have killed will rejoice, I promise you.”
“Save your breath,” scoffed Satyaki. “Stop boasting,
you bag of wind!” With that, they launched themselves
with great energy, wounding each other
with showers of arrows, so that their blood flowed.
They ended up on foot, circling each other
with naked swords, grasping their bull-hide shields.
They roared and grunted like two elephants,
sometimes thrusting, sometimes head-butting,
rolling on the ground, wrestling, no holds barred.
Bhurishravas looked likely to be victor
since Satyaki, who had never known defeat,
was exhausted and was lacking weapons.
Sooner than see Satyaki broken now,
Arjuna chose a razor-headed arrow
and sliced off the arm of Bhurishravas,
the sword still in its hand. The warrior
cried to him in wrath. “Oh, Arjuna,
this is a sinful act, cruel and heartless—
I was not fighting you. Were you not taught
the rules of righteous conduct? Shame on you!
You have been keeping sinful company;
no doubt that’s why you’ve left the path of virtue.”
“Self-defense is not a sin,” said Arjuna,
“and Satyaki is like a part of me—
my dear disciple and my honored kinsman.
You had your sword poised to cut his throat—
it would have been a sin just to stand by.”
Bhurishravas, now useless as a warrior,
vowed to die by fasting unto death,
and sat meditating upon mantras,
senses withdrawn, in great tranquillity.
But Satyaki still wanted to dispatch him,
remembering the pain he had inflicted
in killing Satyaki’s beloved sons
earlier in the war. He raised his sword
and, with one blow, beheaded his enemy.
“Alas! Shame! Shame!” cried the Kauravas.
Satyaki snapped back, “What’s your complaint?
This man has been killed in the press of battle.
Wicked Kauravas! Where was your sense of shame
when you set upon an unprotected boy
like a pack of slavering hyenas?
Where was shame then? I see you do not answer!
“I have it on reputable authority
that men should always act to accomplish that
which gives the most grief to their enemies—
even women were killed in the old days.
In killing this man, I acted lawfully.”
No one there applauded him, however,
neither Kaurava nor Pandava.
Time moved relentlessly, marked by the sun
indifferently sailing through the heavens,
dropping westward. No earthly thing would make it
slow its course, however high the stake,
even if Arjuna should lose his life
for want of a few extra, dawdling, minutes.
The Pandava was desperate. “Speed on!
Speed on the horses, Krishna, outstrip the sun!
Make my vow true!”
Duryodhana was tense;
the Pandava chariot was approaching fast.
“Karna, take up arms against Arjuna.
Look at the sun! We only have to stop him
briefly and the world will belong to us.
Without him, the Pandavas are finished.”
Karna, in great pain from his fight with Bhima,
said, “Fate will decide, but I will do my best.”
For this last-ditch defense, the Kauravas
mobilized their most accomplished fighters:
Ashvatthaman, Kripa, Duhshasana,
Karna and his son Vrishasena,
Shalya the Madra king, Duryodhana . . .
But even as they grouped themselves for battle
in a cordon around the Sindhu king,
and as the sun was throwing streaks of flame
across the sky, Arjuna was already
laying waste to the Kaurava defense.
Then followed the most fierce and bitter fighting
of the whole war so far. Great Arjuna,
whose thoughts were never far from Abhimanyu,
massacred by the men before him now,
fought like a god. A hundred of his arrows
pierced Karna, bathing him in blood. Karna
in return pelted him with arrows;
Arjuna cut them all off in mid-flight,
then sent a special shaft—which Ashvatthaman
intercepted, knocking it to earth.
Arjuna killed Karna’s four fine horses
and his charioteer. Ashvatthaman
hauled Karna up onto his own chariot
and the fight continued, others weighing in.
Such was the damage dealt by Arjuna
that the Kaurava troops began to fa
lter
as they stumbled over the mangled bodies
of their comrades, who formed a jumbled mound
at least three deep. Strewn with dead elephants,
with horses missing heads or hooves, with men
whose wounds were like gaping mouths, gouting blood,
some moving still, some screaming and pleading,
the scene was a truly horrifying hell.
The chariot was mud-caked and obstructed
but Krishna, with preternatural skill, managed
to steer a course nearer, ever nearer
to Jayadratha. Suddenly it was clear
that between the Sindhu king and death
stood only a handful of exhausted troops,
defeated and disorganized.
But look!
Only the barest sliver of the sun
could still be seen above the Asta hill
and Jayadratha himself, fresh and rested,
fought Arjuna, with everything to gain.
To and fro went the advantage. Kaurava
warriors rallied now to Jayadratha
and surrounded him. “Arjuna,” said Krishna,
“I will resort to yoga to make it seem
as if the sun has set. Do not yourself
be deceived. Thinking he’s safe, Jayadratha
will relax his guard—and you can finish him.”
The sky grew dusky. The Kauravas sent up
a cheer of relief, and dropped their vigilance.
“Arjuna!” cried Krishna, “Now is the moment!
But be careful. The Sindhu king carries
a dangerous protection. Whoever causes
his severed head to fall upon the ground,
that person’s own head will disintegrate
into a hundred pieces. The time has come
for you to invoke the marvelous Pashupata.”
Arjuna, with the mantras he had learned,
aimed Pashupata at Jayadratha.
His head flew off and, carried by the weapon,
traveled to where the Sindhu king’s old father
was sitting in profound meditation.
Down fell Jayadratha’s head, landing
in the lap of his own father. Oblivious,
old Sindhu did not notice and, when he rose,
it fell onto the ground, and his own head
exploded in a cloud of fragments.
“Shame!”
cried the outraged Kauravas. “What wickedness!
Arjuna has flown in the face of dharma
and killed the Sindhu king when day was over.”
“The dust got in your eyes, that’s all,” said Krishna.
“Rub them and look again—it’s not yet sunset.”
And now, gazing at the western sky,
everyone could see the crimson segment.
It was still only late afternoon.
“I still cannot grasp,” said Dhritarashtra,
“how we could fail against the Pandavas
when our forces are so well prepared,
so numerous. What can it be but fate?”
“Perhaps,” said Sanjaya, “our forces know
the cause they are supporting is unrighteous.
The kings who make up Duryodhana’s army
are his vassals—they are obliged to fight.
Perhaps the allies of the Pandavas
are fighting from conviction, confident
that their cause is just.”
“How can we know?”
said the blind king. “Destiny plays with us;
it will always have the final word.
“But tell me, Sanjaya, what happened next?”
40.
BATTLE AT NIGHT
Sanjaya went on:
“Arjuna,” said Krishna, “you have triumphed!
No other warrior in all the three worlds
could have done what you have done today,
alone and unsupported.”
“Beloved Krishna,”
Arjuna replied, “this vow of mine
has only been fulfilled by virtue of
your skill, your power, above all, your wisdom.
This victory is yours.” Krishna smiled.
He cast his eyes over the battlefield.
He saw brave kshatriyas by the thousand
lying dead or dying, some at peace,
some clutching at the earth like a loved woman.
He saw their muddied banners; their bright jewels,
collars of gold and ornaments, adorning them
even now. In this sea of carnage
it was still possible to notice beauty.
It was for this these men had lived—for glory,
a hero’s heaven. For their place in legend.
Yet how many would have their story told
in poetry or song? How many of them
would have a hero’s stone raised in their honor;
how many be expunged, obliterated
from Earth’s memory, as though they had not lived?
Arjuna and Krishna brought the good news
of Jayadratha’s death to Yudhishthira,
who wept tears of joy. “By good fortune
our enemies flounder in a sea of grief!”
And, recognizing Krishna’s divine aspect,
he gave thanks to him as the eternal Lord,
as well as the Pandavas’ most cherished friend.
Bhima and Satyaki arrived; Yudhishthira
joyfully embraced them and praised their courage.
It was a splendid moment—catastrophe
decisively, heroically averted.
The sun had set. But the savage battle
continued, so fired up were the two sides
with hostility toward each other.
Arjuna, glorious in his diadem,
energized by success, fiercely fought
the attacking Kauravas, and put to flight
his old teacher Kripa, and Ashvatthaman.
Those of your sons who were still alive
skirmished with Satyaki, but the Vrishni hero
did not kill them, though he smashed their chariots.
He left them to be finished off by Bhima.
of how Karna had insulted him,
treating him like a child, not a worthy foe.
Going up to Karna, Arjuna
spoke scornfully. “Driver’s son, you should know
that Bhima could have killed you easily
but held back so I can fulfill my vow
and slaughter you myself. Your empty boasts
and sinful insults will be avenged by me;
Duryodhana will weep over your body.
Further, there’s your part in the shameful murder
of Abhimanyu. For that, I swear to you,
I will kill your own son, Vrishasena,
before your eyes!” Karna walked away.
In Duryodhana’s camp the mood was somber.
The thwarted Kaurava wept bitter tears
for the devastation of his army
and the death of Jayadratha. As he wept,
he remembered how he had believed Karna
when he proclaimed he could kill the Pandavas.
Because he longed for that, because he wanted
to believe in his friend’s martial greatness,
he had refused to yield. Yet now he saw:
with Krishna, Arjuna was invincible;
Karna was not.
Heaving deep sighs, the prince
went to Drona and poured out his sorrow.
“Master, no one can protect my army.
Jayadratha is dead despite our efforts;
so many allies who trusted me are dead
and it is my fault. My greed and anger
have brought this about. Even a hundred
horse sacrifices could not wipe out my sin.
I cannot annul my debt to m
y dead friends—
it is for me alone that men have died
who otherwise would be enjoying their lives
in tranquillity. I should find a hole
and bury myself in it! Failing that,
the only way I can have peace of mind
is to destroy the Pandavas and their allies
or myself be killed, and join my friends.
Yes, I shall lose . . . and that is not surprising
when the great Drona, chief of the whole army,
deals gently with the Pandavas—Arjuna
is your disciple and you favor him.
That’s it—you have decided that we will lose
and are bringing it about by skillful means!
And we took you for a friend! It seems
that only Karna wants victory for me.”
Drona was desolate. “Oh, Duryodhana,
you know better! Was it not you who failed
to protect the luckless Jayadratha
despite celestial armor? I always told you
that Arjuna will never be defeated.
Even so, I have done my best for you.
This tragedy began in the gaming hall—
Shakuni threw the dice to favor you,
but now it seems as if those dice were arrows
sent speeding down the years for your destruction.
Vidura warned you of it at the time.
“Both the armies are geared up to fight
throughout the night. Prepare yourself for that.
Look—the Pandavas and the Panchalas
are rushing toward me, thirsting for my death.
I vow that I shall not remove my armor
until I have wiped out the Panchalas
or died trying. Tell my son, Ashvatthaman,
to live in righteousness, as I have taught him.”
With that, Drona drove off into battle.
Duryodhana went to Karna for comfort.
“Drona is siding with the Pandavas.
If he had fought for us wholeheartedly,
Jayadratha would be living now.”
“Drona is doing his very best,” said Karna,
“but he is old, and Arjuna is outstanding.
We ourselves failed to protect the Sindhu king.
In my view, it is fate that governs things.
All our plans to harm the Pandavas
have failed, one by one, baffled by time.
Destiny never sleeps; we can’t evade it.
All we can do is summon all our courage
and fight with resolution, following dharma.”
As night fell, the Pandavas advanced;
the Kauravas stormed out to meet them, fired
by a burning thirst for retribution—
elephant divisions against elephants,
foot soldiers clashing with their counterparts.