Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  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.”