Abhimanyu’s young eyes flashed with joy. ‘My father will be proud of me,’ he thought to himself. And yet he had a strange premonition of danger. Arjuna had repeatedly warned his son about how the formation closed as soon as someone entered it. To be trapped in the heart of the Chakravyuh, at the mercy of the Kauravas, was certain death.
Abhimanyu and his charioteer broke through the entrance of the Chakaravyuh and flashed like a streak of lightning to its centre. He was a great archer and skillful fighter, and he had all the weapons he needed at his command. Drona, Dusasana, Karna—the young boy circumvented all of them with ease.
Drona could not help but admire the valour of his favourite pupil’s son.
‘Drona is trying to protect Abhimanyu,’ Duryodhana exclaimed angrily. ‘We must destroy Arjuna’s son.’
The rest of the Pandavas and their armies had failed to follow Abhimanyu into the Chakravyuh. They were held back by Jayadratha, the husband of Dushala, whom the Pandavas had routed when he tried to abduct Draupadi in the forest. Jayadratha had received a boon from Lord Shiva that he would be able to defy the Pandavas in single combat, provided that Arjuna and Krishna were not there to protect them. Now he invoked this boon. Neither Bhima, nor Yudhishthira, nor any of their forces, could get past Jayadratha to provide support to Abhimanyu.
Abhimanyu fought on bravely and steadily, battling kinsmen and friends he had known from childhood. He mowed through the ranks of the Kauravas like an angel of death. Rukmaratha, son of the king of Salya, died at his hands, as did Duryodhana’s son Lakshan Kumar.
His uncles, the Pandavas, and their troops were nowhere in sight. Jayadratha and his elephants had blocked both their entry and Abhimanyu’s exit.
Sakuni, the evil genius of the Kauravas, went to Duryodhana, as he grieved for Lakshan Kumar. ‘It is impossible to defeat Abhimanyu in single combat,’ he said. ‘Let us all attack him together and destroy him.’
Forgetting every rule of chivalry and the just conduct of warfare, Dronacharya, Kripacharya, Ashwathama, Karna, Brihadbala and Kritavarma closed ranks against young Abhimanyu. Karna cut the string of his bow from behind him. Drona killed the horses that drew his chariot. Kripacharya killed his charioteer. It was six against one, and yet Abhimanyu fought on. Drona broke the hilt of Abhimanyu’s sword and Karna shattered his shield. But Arjuna’s son would not concede defeat. He grasped the wheel of his broken chariot and twirled it about his head like a discus. His young face glowed with anger. ‘Fight me one by one if you can,’ he exclaimed contemptuously. His opponents, all six of them, jumped on him and smashed the wheel to pieces.
Young Abhimanyu was trapped in a Chakravyuh he could not escape, and confronted with the brutality and treachery of his enemies. Tired and fatigued, he slumped to the ground. Dusasana’s son rushed at him with a mace and killed the fallen hero. Abhimanyu’s last thought was regret that Arjuna had not been there to see him fight his first and last battle.
Avenging Abhimanyu
When Arjuna returned to the Pandava camp after defeating the Trigartas, he knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. ‘Why is Abhimanyu not here to receive me?’ he said, looking around anxiously for his favourite son.
No one answered him. Only Yudhishthira’s broken sobs cut through the deathly silence.
‘I was told that Drona had arranged his forces in an impregnable Chakravyuh. Did you send my son into that deathtrap?’
No one had the courage to reply. ‘I had taught Abhimanyu how to enter the Chakravyuh, but not how to escape it,’ Arjuna said, looking accusingly at his brothers.
‘We were certain we could defend him,’ Yudhishthira replied with downcast eyes. ‘But the Chakravyuh closed up behind him, and Jayadratha blocked our passage.’
Arjuna was trembling with rage and grief. ‘I vow that I shall kill Jayadratha before sunset tomorrow,’ he declared. ‘No force in the world can stop me from avenging my son.’
There was rejoicing in the Kaurava camp. ‘We have finally destroyed the might of the Pandavas,’ Duryodhana yelled triumphantly. ‘Arjuna will never recover from this shock.’
Just then, Arjuna twanged his Gandiva and Lord Krishna blew upon his conch, the Panchjanya. It was a renewed declaration of war, a message from the Pandavas that they would not concede defeat.
Duryodhana’s spies returned from the enemy camp and told him of Arjuna’s oath to kill Jayadratha before the next sunset. Jayadratha, not a brave man at the best of times, was terrified. ‘I shall run away from the battlefield,’ he stuttered. ‘Let me concede defeat and retreat to my kingdom. I don’t want to die at Arjuna’s hands.’
Duryodhana and Drona promised to protect the shaken Jayadratha. Drona constructed an even more formidable military formation, with the Chakravyuh at its centre but reinforced further.
The following day, Arjuna, fuelled by an overpowering anger at Abhimanyu’s death, penetrated the Kaurava defences with ease. Arjuna encountered his old teacher Dronacharya. The two were perfectly matched, and could anticipate each other’s every move as they sparred and grappled on the fields of Kurukshetra. Finally Arjuna slipped past Dronacharya, for he had to keep his word and kill Jayadratha by sunset. It was approaching the winter solstice when the sun sets early in the evening.
Arjuna had resolved to use the Pasupata, the divine weapon he had received from Lord Shiva, to avenge his son’s death. But the shadows were lengthening, and time was running out. ‘The sun will set in a few moments,’ Krishna murmured to Arjuna. ‘When I instruct you, you must aim the Pasupata at Jayadratha without questioning me.’
Using the magical powers of illusion, Krishna caused darkness to descend upon the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Thinking the time of battle to be over, the jubilant Kauravas threw down their arms and began cheering.
‘Jayadratha is looking at the dark sky,’ Krishna said to Arjuna. ‘Aim the Pasupata at him and avenge Abhimanyu’s death.’
The Pasupata cut off Jayadratha’s head and severed it from his body. The darkness lifted and the sun shone again. Krishna instructed Arjuna to recite a magical incantation that caused the decapitated head to float from Kurukshetra across the fields and forests into the lap of Jayadratha’s father, Vriddhakshatra, who was saying his evening prayers. As he stood up after his prayers, his son’s head rolled into his lap. In an explosion that could be heard all the way to distant Kurukshetra, Jayadratha’s father burst into a ball of fire.
Arjuna recited the incantation to recall the mighty Pasupata. It came back, borne by a cool perfumed breeze.
As Krishna hurried their chariot back to the camp, he told Arjuna of the curse that Jayadratha’s father had once invoked on whoever killed his son. ‘Whoever caused Jayadratha’s head to fall to the earth was ordained to die,’ Krishna explained. ‘I had to protect you, so I returned his head to his father.’
The battle in the field of Kurukshetra continued on its fated course. Duryodhana was dejected by his brother-in-law’s death; Dushala, the only sister of the hundred Kaurava brothers, was now a widow. Jayadratha’s death only strengthened Dronacharya’s resolve to win the battle and hardened his heart against his Pandava pupils. His keen eyes watched and observed every corner of the battlefield, even as he planned swift strategies and counter-strategies to outwit the nimble Pandavas and their determined allies.
Now that Arjuna had honoured his vow to slay Abhimanyu’s killer, Yudhishthira made a renewed effort to decimate Duryodhana’s disheartened troops.
Ghatotkacha
Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s son born of the demoness Hidimbi, came from his forest home to assist his father and uncles in battle. He was a young man of heroic strength and power. His war cries sent shivers of fear through the Kaurava camp, and his savage team of rakshasas were almost invincible.
Ghatotkacha’s first memorable encounter was with Ashwathama. Bhima’s son used the power of magical delusion to confuse his enemy, but Ashwathama countered him with his vast armoury of divine astras.
The powers of rakshasas
increase in the dark of night. Breaking all the rules of warfare, the battle between Ghatotkacha and Ashwathama continued late into the hours of magical darkness.
Karna came to the rescue of the Kaurava army. He fought bravely, but his unwavering aim was of no use in the face of Ghatotkacha’s powers of illusion. Ghatotkacha would change his form at will and so Karna’s arrows could never find their target. When he rained stones on the Kaurava army, Karna countered it with the Yayavyastra. When he sent out a huge raincloud that dripped lethal arrows, Karna let loose his Aindrastra. The Kaurava army was speechless with terror. Karna realized that unless he acted immediately, they might surrender to the Pandavas. He decided to use the Shakti, the weapon given to him by Lord Indra in return for his invincible golden breastplate and earrings. He had reserved the Shakti for his final and decisive encounter with Arjuna, but now he had no option but to employ it to counter Ghatotkacha. The Shakti streaked across the sky at the speed of lightning, piercing the cloak of illusion with which Ghatotkacha defended himself. Bhima’s son fell to earth, but even as he died he summoned his magical powers one last time. His body swelled and grew until it was an enormous, heavy mass, and as it landed on the Kaurava army it destroyed one entire akshauhini with the impact of its fall.
Bhima felt his heart would break. The price of the war was higher than what even this bravest of warriors could bear. His beloved firstborn son, Ghatotkacha, was dead. Even as Bhima grieved, Krishna smiled an inscrutable smile. He knew, now that Karna had used the Shakti, his favourite cousin Arjuna was safe.
Karna, too, was depressed and disheartened. His fate was sealed. The desperate measures that had dictated the premature use of his ultimate weapon had spelt out his own doom.
The Death of Drona
Draupadi’s father, King Drupad of Panchala, charged forward towards Dronacharya, his heart bitter with anger and revenge. Many many years ago, at the hermitage of the sage Bharadwaja, Drona had been Drupad’s friend and companion. But since then this old friendship had turned to enmity. Drupad had humbled Drona when he came seeking help. In turn, Drona had instructed his students to capture Drupad. Arjuna had won half of Drupad’s kingdom for his teacher, and held his future father-in-law captive. Drupad had vowed revenge on Drona then; now his sons-in-law were arrayed in battle against their former teacher.
Lost in thought, his heart overcome with memories, Drupad barely registered the fatal golden arrow winged with blue feathers that whizzed at him from Drona’s copper and gold chariot. Drupad fell, and for a moment Drona too felt the weight of his years, and shed a silent tear for the man who had once been his dearest friend, when the world was young and innocent. His will faltered, and as he wiped his eyes dry and readied himself once again for battle, Drupad’s son Dhrishtadyumya rushed towards him like the personification of death himself.
All those years ago, when Drupad of Panchala first had sworn vengeance on his childhood friend Drona, he had secured two boons from Lord Shiva: that he beget a daughter who would marry the valiant Arjuna and a son who would destroy the proud Dronacharya. Now it was time for his second prayer to be granted.
Dhrishtadyumya invoked the gods and prepared to avenge his father’s death. His red banner fluttered in the furious breeze, and his dark shield with its hundred silver moons glinted and glittered with the force of his resolve.
Dronacharya’s eighty-five years in the world did not burden him in battle against his younger adversary. His bloodshot eyes were still as keen as a hawk’s, and his silver brows and long silver beard only added to the fierceness of his appearance. As the young man and the old acharya battled furiously, it became clear to all the assembled armies that Dronacharya was getting the better of his adversary.
Of all the brothers, Bhima loved Draupadi the most tenderly. Her beloved father was dead. Now it seemed that her brother Dhrishtadyumya would face a similar fate on the same battlefield. Bhima decided that he would defend Draupadi’s brother by whatever means he could. He conferred with Krishna and came up with a plan. It was decided that Bhima would kill an elephant that was named Ashwathama. Having done this, he returned to the battlefront to work through their deceptive ploy.
The code of conduct of warriors enjoins the truth at all times; but the truth is often the first casualty in times of war. Bhima’s chariot raced where the battle was fiercest. ‘Ashwathama is dead!’ Bhima roared, to the consternation of the Kaurava troops. It was, of course, the elephant Ashwathama that had died, not Drona’s son.
The mighty Dronacharya faltered in mid-battle as he heard Bhima announce Ashwathama’s death. He could not believe that his son had died. He looked as though he had been struck by a thunderbolt. His eyes flashed with the most intense grief; so deep was his sorrow that there was no place in it for rage. The deadly short arrows which he had been about to shoot at Dhrishtadyumya fell from his hands. Slowly, very slowly, Drona took off his armour and breastplate, and put his weapons aside. His face was ashen; suddenly he looked every one of his eighty-five years.
‘It cannot be,’ he thought to himself. ‘My son cannot be dead.’ His conviction grew again and Drona returned to battle with renewed vigour.
Drona fought like one possessed. He used all the divine astras at his command, including the ultimate weapon of the Brahmastra, which he flung at Arjuna, once his favourite pupil. The sky grew dark and the earth herself quaked in fear; but Arjuna knew the secrets of the Brahmastra. He too invoked the mantras that set loose a second Brahmastra: the two divine weapons met in mid-air and destroyed each other.
‘Ashwathama is dead,’ Bhima proclaimed again.
Drona turned to Yudhishthira. ‘Does my son live?’ he asked him. He was certain that Yudhishthira would never tell a lie.
‘Ashwathama is dead,’ replied Yudhishthira, and then, softly, under his breath, he added in a whisper so low that no one could hear, ‘The elephant Ashwathama is dead.’
It was the first and last untruth that Yudhishthira, that most righteous of men, told in his life on earth. Yudhishthira’s chariot, which had always floated a few inches above the ground because of his moral strength and dharma, came abruptly down to earth. The eldest Pandava had stolen an unfair advantage over his adversary. He had compromised himself.
Drona could never think that Yudhishthira might tell a lie like any ordinary mortal. Ashwathama was dead. Everything seemed meaningless in the face of that fact. Drona had lost the will to fight, or indeed to live.
‘Ashwathama is dead,’ roared Bhima again. The Pandavas’ troops let out a feeble cheer, for secretly most of them had always respected and admired Drona’s valiant son.
Dhrishtadyumya charged on, like an enraged bull, quite oblivious to the fact that his foe was unarmed and had ceased to fight. There was the sharp swish of sword cutting through flesh; Dhrishtadyumya was covered in blood, and Dronacharya’s severed head was held triumphantly in his left hand. Drupad’s son, still mad with anger and vengeance, threw Drona’s head into the ranks of the Kaurava army. ‘A gift from the king of Panchala,’ he screamed, as the troops scattered in fear to see their commander thus beheaded.
Arjuna grieved for Dronacharya with all his heart. His love for his beloved guru had not waned even though the tricks of fate had placed them on opposite sides of the battlefield. ‘How did Ashwathama die?’ he asked Bhima, his face drawn with sadness.
‘There was an elephant of that name,’ replied Bhima, ‘whom I decided to kill. I do not know what Drona understood by my words or those of our brother Yudhishthira.’
‘You struck him down with a lie,’ reproached Arjuna. ‘That is not the way a warrior should fight. Dhrishtadyumya killed Dronacharya when he was unarmed and heartbroken.’
In the meanwhile, Ashwathama had discovered his father’s beheaded corpse. ‘Who killed my father?’ he asked Duryodhana. ‘Who vanquished this invincible hero?’
When Duryodhana saw that Ashwathama was still alive, he understood the extent of their opponents’ treachery. He went pale with grief and could no
t speak from anger.
Haltingly, Kripacharya and Duryodhana told Ashwathama of what had happened. ‘They told him you were dead,’ said Duryodhana. ‘Dhrishtadyumya killed him after he had put down his weapons.’
‘A valiant man lives on in the deeds of his son,’ Ashwathama replied. ‘I shall fight on, undeterred.’ He decided to invoke the secret Narayanastra with which his father had entrusted him. The skies darkened as he recited the terrible incantation: ‘You are the silence of all secret things. Now break your silence and let loose the terror of your voice.’ After washing his hands with holy water, Ashwathama let free the golden arrow that would bring about the destruction of the world.
In the Pandava camp, Lord Krishna observed the skies darken, and then the fiery rain of flaming golden arrows, all ten thousand of them. The heavens roared and rumbled, and the strength of a hundred thousand weapons combined in one will was let loose by Ashwathama to avenge the betrayal and death of his father.
Krishna realized that the weapon Ashwathama had unleashed was none other than the Narayanastra. Krishna and Arjuna were the very incarnations of Nar and Narayana; they alone could defuse its terrible lust for death. ‘Fall to the earth and seek her protection,’ Krishna instructed the terrified Pandava troops. ‘You cannot fight this weapon even in your mind. Submit to the lord of death and he may spare you.’
Bhima, stubborn as always, refused to submit to Krishna’s entreaties, for he considered it cowardice to bend before enemy fire. The combined force of the Narayanastra rained down on him and him alone. His golden breastplate reflected the flashing of a thousand suns. In desperation, Krishna’s cousin, Satyaki, knocked Bhima down with a long wooden pole, and held him down until the might of the attack had subsided.
The Puffin Mahabharata Page 14