and dust made it impossible to see,
there was a standoff. But then the moon came up,
casting its eerie light over the land,
and the two sides again flew at each other.
Susharman managed to capture the old king.
Seeing this, the Matsya troops lost heart
and started to retreat. Yudhishthira
called to Bhima, “You must rescue Virata,
we are greatly in his debt.” Bhima rejoiced
at the chance to show his prowess in a fight.
“I shall uproot that tree—it will be my club
and I shall drive away the enemies!”
“Let the tree stand,” said Yudhishthira,
afraid that Bhima would be recognized.
“Do the job with ordinary weapons.
Nakula and Sahadeva will join you.”
Bhima obeyed, and fierce battle followed
during which the Matsya king escaped
and, seizing a club, set upon Susharman
with all the vigor of an impetuous youth.
The Trigarta force was driven off, defeated.
The fat cows and bullocks were brought home.
King Virata cried, “Kanka! Ballava!
I owe you my life, and my kingdom.
All I have is yours—take gold, take dancing girls
bedecked with jewels, take anything you wish!”
With hands joined, Yudhishthira replied,
“To see you safe is all the reward we need.
Let messengers be sent off to the city
to proclaim your victory.”
But meanwhile,
Duryodhana and his men were rounding up
hundreds of cattle a few leagues away,
capturing more than sixty thousand strong.
The herdsmen ran panting to the court
where, in the king’s absence, his son Uttara
was in charge. “Prince, you must take action!
We’ve heard your father talk about your prowess,
how brave you are, how skilled with bow and spear.
Now the time has come to prove his words were true.
Let your bowstring thrum, let your silver horses
be yoked to your splendid chariot, let your arrows
blot out the sun and terrify your foes.
You are our only hope, courageous prince.”
“I certainly would do as you suggest,”
said Uttara, “spread terror with my bow,
cut a swath through their ranks of stalwart fighters,
decimate their warhorses and elephants
so they would think that Arjuna himself
was bearing down on them . . . The problem is,
I lack a charioteer with the right skills.”
Draupadi overheard, and approached shyly.
“That handsome dancing master, Brihannada,
was at one time Arjuna’s charioteer
and learned a lot from that great-hearted man.
I myself saw him when the fire god burned
the Khandava Forest—he drove Arjuna
to victory. If it pleases you, your sister
could fetch him quickly from the women’s quarters.”
Brihannada was summoned, and was told
what was required of him. “O prince,” he simpered,
“ask me to sing or dance for you—I’ll do it.
But drive a chariot in the thick of battle?
I’m not so sure that I could manage that.”
“You’ll dance another time,” said Uttara,
“but first, prepare yourself to drive my chariot.
I shall defeat the Kauravas, take back
the stolen cattle, and return in glory.”
The prince called for his well-made bows and arrows
and, decked out in his expensive armor,
he looked most elegant and glorious.
Arjuna fumbled with his coat of mail
and put his breastplate on the wrong way up,
making the women laugh. “Oh, Brihannada,”
they cried, “when you defeat the Kauravas,
bring us their bright clothing for our dolls.”
Arjuna promised. Then he clambered up
clumsily onto the chariot seat, and drove
helter-skelter toward the battle lines,
Prince Uttara clinging tightly to the rail.
Arjuna called, “O tiger among princes,
how glad I am that we will fight together
against the formidable and bloodthirsty
Kauravas, against unbeaten Karna,
Duryodhana whose prowess with a mace
is unparalleled, and those other heroes!”
Behind him, Uttara was pale with fear.
It was not long before the enemy
could be seen in the distance, warriors
by the thousand, like a moving forest.
The sound reached them of the mass of men,
a distant roar, as of a mighty ocean.
Uttara’s hair stood on end. “Stop! Stop!
Turn round—I’m too young for this!” he bleated.
“Drive back to the city.”
But Arjuna
pressed on. “I’m taking you, my strong-armed hero,
to fight with the marauding Kauravas.
You boasted earlier. If you don’t fight now,
if you don’t recapture the stolen cows
but creep back to the city empty-handed,
the whole court will laugh at you.”
“I don’t care!”
wailed Uttara. Anything—his father’s scorn,
the dancing girls’ derision—would be better
than early death! With this, the woeful coward
jumped from the chariot, leaving his bow behind,
and fled. The Pandava ran after him,
his braided hair flying, bright red skirts
flapping round him. Some of the Kauravas
laughed at the spectacle, though others wondered
who was the strange man-woman. Could it be
the Terrifier, Arjuna, in disguise?
Arjuna caught up with Uttara
who was gibbering with fear. “Help! Let me go!
I’ll give you anything—gold, elephants;
let me go, Brihannada!” Arjuna
took pity on the poor sap. “Noble prince,
you’re a kshatriya. If you can’t fight,
then drive the chariot instead, while I do.
Together, we’ll defeat the enemy;
I will protect you.”
They drove to the shami tree
at the cremation ground, where Arjuna
wished to retrieve his weapons. “Quick! Climb up,”
he told Uttara. “Tied to a branch, you’ll find
the weapons of the Pandavas. Fetch them down.”
“But I’ve heard there is a body in the tree,”
whined Uttara. “I’m a prince, I’ll be exposed
to pollution!”
“You will expose yourself
to condemnation if you don’t climb up.
Do as I tell you,” said Arjuna sternly.
“There are bows there, never mind the body.”
When Uttara set eyes on the marvelous weapons,
shining with a celestial radiance,
he was amazed. “Brihannada, what are these—
whose is this superb bow whose smooth back
is inlaid with a hundred golden eyes?
And this, patterned with scintillating fireflies
in pure gold? And this one, gem-encrusted?
And these fine arrows, with gold and silver nocks?
And whose is this long sword with the golden hilt,
and these others in their dazzling scabbards?”
Arjuna explained, “They all belong
to the sons of Pandu.”
“But where are they now,
those
illustrious heroes?” asked Uttara.
Then Arjuna revealed that he was Arjuna,
and disclosed the real identities
of the gaming master and the cook,
cowherd, horse tamer and the chambermaid.
Uttara was utterly astonished.
“Can I believe my ears? Can this be true?
If you are really Arjuna, then tell me
your ten names.”
“Very well,” said the Pandava.
“I am Arjuna, also Vijaya,
Phalguna, Jishnu, He of the Diadem,
He of the White Horses, the Terrifier,
Left-handed Archer, Dhanamjaya, Krishna.”
Uttara bowed down before Arjuna.
“What good fortune to see you, strong-armed one!
Please pardon me if I have offended you.
My fear has fled away. I only feel
great devotion. Please, give me your orders
and I shall drive you into the thick of battle.
You’ll find me an outstanding charioteer!
Only one thing still puzzles me—how can you
be a eunuch, and still be Arjuna?”
Arjuna reassured him on this point.
Then he prepared for action—bound his hair,
tied on his stout wrist guards and strung Gandiva.
He took Virata’s standard from the chariot
and affixed his own: the monkey banner.
He blew Devadatta, the sound of which
caused the enemy to become confused,
and Uttara to crouch down in the chariot.
“Oh!” he cried. “I can’t see where I am,
my mind is reeling, I am going deaf!”
Arjuna gave him comfort, tenderly
called him “hero,” “lion among men,”
enabling him to summon up some courage.
Again, the conch sounded out its challenge
and this time Uttara held fast the reins.
He planted his feet firmly, whipped the horses,
and the two rode out together into battle.
The Kauravas now knew who they were facing.
They knew the deep bray of that battle conch;
they heard the well-known thundering vibration
of Gandiva; they saw the monkey banner.
Drona said, “This bodes no good for us.
The peerless archer is coming to do battle.
The earth is shaking, our men have lost their nerve
and do not want to fight. Let us retreat.”
“Teachers are wise,” said Duryodhana,
“they’re good at telling stories to their pupils
but, faced with danger, do they have good judgment?
Beware a pundit who praises the enemy!
The Pandavas have broken the covenant—
it is not yet the end of the thirteenth year.
Therefore they will have to resume their exile—
another thirteen years in the wilderness.
Meanwhile we should protect our captured cattle
and support our allies, the Trigartas.”
Karna addressed Drona. “I at least
have the courage to fight the Pandava
and take the captured cows to Hastinapura.
Today, I shall kill Arjuna. My arrows
will fly toward him like a swarm of locusts.
His monkey standard will tumble in the dust.
Why fear him? I am as good as he is.
With my weapons obtained from Jamadagnya,
I would even fight Krishna himself!”
“Son of Radha, you are always boasting,”
complained Kripa, frowning with irritation.
“Arjuna has great victories to his credit.
What have you ever done single-handed?
Go on—tell me! You must have lost your wits
if you think you are a match for Arjuna.”
“Yes, you’re full of air,” said Ashvatthaman.
“The cows have not yet stirred from the Matsya lands.
What man of sense would brag about achievements
not yet performed? When have you ever triumphed
over an enemy through martial valor?
Through what heroic feats did you subdue
Draupadi at the dice game? The Pandavas
were cruelly wronged—tricked out of their kingdom,
their virtuous wife outrageously insulted.
Certainly they will not forgive such treatment,
and now they will be thirsting for revenge
like raging lions released from captivity.
No one can defeat the Left-handed Archer.
Duryodhana—you can fight him if you wish,
fight as you fought in the gambling hall!
Let cheating Shakuni fight the Pandava!
Even if my father decides to fight
I, for one, refuse to take up arms.”
Bhishma said, “What you say is accurate.
But I think the son of Radha spoke those words
not as a mindless boast, but to fire us up
to fight, as is fitting for kshatriyas.
We should not be squabbling amongst ourselves.
Prince—the words you spoke concerning Drona
should not have been said.” Duryodhana
apologized; Drona was mollified.
“The sons of Kunti are men of principle,”
said Bhishma. “According to my calculations,
the thirteenth year has passed. They have served their time.”
“Grandfather,” said Duryodhana, “I shall not
give up the kingdom to the Pandavas.”
“I understand,” said Bhishma. “But for now,
that is not the issue. We have to fight
as best we can.” The son of Ganga quickly
gave orders for a battle strategy.
Surveying the ranks of the Kauravas
as Uttara drove the chariot ever nearer
at full gallop, Arjuna pointed out
the fine emblazoned flags of his oppponents
fluttering above their chariots: Drona’s
with its distinctive water gourd, Karna’s
boldly displaying a scarlet elephant.
“And see that tall, impressive white-haired man
standing erect, bow in hand, gauntleted,
a sparkling white umbrella shading him,
whose banner has sun and stars on azure blue?
That is Bhishma, grandfather to us all.”
Now that they were within arrow range
Arjuna scanned the field for Duryodhana,
knowing that if he could defeat the prince
the others would give in. He could not see him.
“I think that coward’s taking the cattle south
while the others make a stand. Let us skirt round
and find him.” Uttara slewed the chariot round.
Drona, guessing Arjuna’s intentions,
urged his soldiers to attack his rear,
but the Terrifier pelted them with arrows
so that they scattered in complete confusion.
He blew his conch, his chariot wheels thundered,
the monkey on his standard screeched aloud,
and the great din made the advancing enemy
freeze in their tracks, and the Matsya cattle
bellow, wave their tails and head for home,
calves pitifully bawling for their mothers.
The towering Wearer of the Diadem
fought with each one of the Kaurava heroes,
and although he generally refrained
from inflicting mortal wounds, he overcame
each of them. Having killed Karna’s brother,
he engaged Radha’s son in a bitter fight
until Karna retreated, badly hurt.
Fierce battle continued. Tireless, Arjuna
unleashed his flights of arrows like a storm
ragi
ng through the ranks of the Kauravas
and leaving many dead—young champions
sprawled and bleeding in their finery.
Indra, accompanied by other gods,
arrived on glittering, airborne chariots
to watch the way the weapons they had given
were put to use. Karna advanced again:
“Now is the time, suta’s son,” said Arjuna,
“for you to verify those boasts of yours.
Reap the reward of the disgraceful insults
you heaped upon the blameless Draupadi!
Just now you fled away from the battlefield,
unlike your brother. That is why you’re alive
and he is not. Shame on you, son of Radha!”
Karna fought skillfully, inflicting wounds
on Arjuna, but at last, hit in the chest,
he was forced to withdraw, despite his boasts.
So was Vikarna, Duryodhana’s brother,
after a well-aimed arrow from Gandiva
shot his elephant from under him.
At this, Duryodhana ran from the field.
All this time, Uttara drove the chariot
with skill and courage. Then Arjuna told him
to catch up with the son of Dhritarashtra
who was running for his life. “Duryodhana!
Remember how kings behave!” shouted Arjuna.
“Turn round and show your miserable face.”
Stung by the insult, Duryodhana turned
and found his courage. The other Kauravas,
even though they were bleeding from their wounds,
rallied to his support. Then Arjuna
blew Devadatta yet again and, this time,
the Kauravas, stupefied, fell to the ground.
Arjuna, remembering his promise
to Virata’s women, told Uttara
to run and strip the rich, colorful robes
from the unconscious heroes. “But keep clear
of Bhishma—he will not have lost his wits,
he knows how to counter this conch of mine.”
Uttara quickly obeyed.
Duryodhana,
when he revived, blamed the other Kauravas
for the way the Pandava had won the day.
Bhishma laughed, “What did you do yourself?
It is only because he did not wish to kill us
that we are still alive. Now, let us depart.”
Seeing them leave, Arjuna paid his respects
to the elders. Then, taking up his bow,
he shot Duryodhana’s headdress from his head
by way of farewell.
“My brave Uttara,”
he said joyfully, “turn the chariot round.
The cows are safe, the enemy is gone.
Now we will rest the horses but, meanwhile,
send messengers with all speed to your father
announcing your outstanding victory.”
Mahabharata Page 32