Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

to have my loyal soldiers massacred

  like helpless insects. Furthermore, Arjuna—

  our only match for Bhishma, with his command

  of celestial weapons—is not fighting

  with genuine conviction. He saw our troops

  attacked by Bhishma earlier, but did nothing.

  Only Bhima fought with his whole heart

  like a true kshatriya. Life is too precious

  to be squandered in the dust like this.

  I shall surrender, embrace a forest life!”

  “Son of Kunti, you should not despair,”

  said Krishna, “when so many noble princes,

  allies and kinsmen, are committed to you.

  Dhrishtadyumna is more than capable

  as supreme commander; and Shikhandin

  will certainly be the cause of Bhishma’s death.

  Time has decreed it.” Krishna’s calm confidence

  allayed Yudhishthira’s despondency.

  Meanwhile, out on the darkened battlefield,

  wounded men, located by their groans,

  were carried to camp, where surgeons tended them.

  Men were running to and fro, collecting

  arrows and other weapons, stripping corpses

  of their armor and accoutrements

  to be used again. It was bloody work.

  Lowborn men, whose task it was to handle

  the dead, piled their carts high with bodies,

  hundreds upon hundreds, some still warm,

  some stiff and cold, in indiscriminate death.

  They tipped them onto funerary pyres,

  doused them with oil and set fire to them.

  Smoke rose for hours, sullying the moon.

  Throughout the night they worked. Sometimes jackals

  had been there first and, as dawn approached,

  crows and vultures jostled in the trees.

  The workers rattled pans to scare them off.

  They flapped up briefly, with complaining cries,

  then settled back to their lugubrious watch.

  In Yama’s realm, the shades of brave warriors

  were opening their eyes on another world.

  34.

  BHISHMA IN COMMAND

  Sanjaya went on:

  For a while, on the first day of battle,

  the fighting had been fairly orderly

  in accordance with the covenant

  agreed between the sides. But very soon

  rules were forgotten in the mad excitement,

  the joyful surge of blood-lust, and the desperate

  struggle to survive. When a leader’s standard

  had been cut down, or toppled, the foot soldiers

  ran around like a scattered flock of geese

  wildly searching for their own battalion.

  Like the men, the elephants and horses

  had been trained for battle. But reality,

  in its terror, wiped out what they had learned.

  Often they were maddened and confused.

  Elephants worked well when their driver

  remained in charge. But if he was wounded

  and fell, then the animal was inclined

  to stampede, doing enormous harm.

  Day two went better for the Pandavas.

  Their troops were deployed in a wide formation

  resembling a crane, with wings outspread,

  banners, like feathers, brilliant in the sun.

  Bhishma, at the head of the Kauravas,

  advanced on the Pandavas, pelting them

  with streams of arrows from his mighty bow,

  and soon the field was littered with the dead

  and dying. But Arjuna and Krishna

  rushed to confront the patriarch, and soon

  cut a great swath through the Kauravas

  as a violent storm flattens a field of grain,

  such that Duryodhana became dismayed.

  “Grandfather, I hope you have not forgotten

  that it’s only on account of your contempt

  that Karna is not here, fighting with us,

  instead of idly burnishing his bow.

  So you had better see that Arjuna

  does not survive the day!”

  The patriarch

  well knew that Arjuna was unbeatable.

  But, as he had to, he attacked the Pandava,

  drawing on his preternatural prowess.

  Arjuna matched his onslaught shaft for shaft,

  blow for vicious blow, while all around them

  soldiers fell, animals screamed and died.

  When the sun set on a bloody day,

  Bhishma pulled his troops back for the night.

  Sanjaya said:

  On the third day, Bhishma arranged his army

  in an eagle formation—himself the beak,

  Drona and Kritavarman the two eyes,

  the mass of troops the body and outstretched wings.

  The Pandavas, arrayed in a half-moon,

  vast and curving, marched steadily to meet them.

  Arjuna was at the left horn, Bhima

  at the right; and, between them, other generals,

  each standing on his splendid four-horse chariot,

  riding in the vanguard of his troops:

  Yudhishthira, protected by elephants,

  Virata, Drupada, Dhristadyumna,

  the five sons of Draupadi, and Satyaki

  (never yet defeated in single combat).

  Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s half-ogre son,

  and other staunch allies of the Pandavas,

  advanced in glittering armor, bright-hued banners

  fluttering proudly above their chariots.

  Like the meeting of two walls of water

  rearing upward from the ocean bed,

  driven by unseen forces underground,

  the armies clashed and mingled with each other;

  the noise of conches, drums, the marching feet

  and battle cries, were enough to drown the senses

  and make men mad. Earlier, back at camp,

  each man had known himself a human being

  with plans and passions, memories, preferences.

  Now he only knew he was an atom

  in a vast organism, carried forward

  by the collective energy of the mass.

  No place for initiative at this moment,

  no room for escape. He was fired up,

  seized by a frenzy larger than himself

  and with a passionate desire for glory.

  Dust swirled and billowed, blotting out the sun.

  Men struggled to keep their bearings, to make out

  which were their leaders, comrades, countrymen,

  shouting names they hoped would bring an answer,

  straining to catch sight of familiar standards

  while, all around, tripping them, blocking them,

  dead and dying men and animals

  bled into the already slushy ground.

  Through gashed skin the blood came spurting, leaping,

  on its mending mission; blood to fill

  the impossible gap, the violent breach

  in the body’s confident integrity;

  the breach that let death enter, the spirit fly.

  The great chariot warriors, well matched,

  each supported by close-knit divisions,

  showered each other with bright streams of arrows.

  Bhishma and Drona engaged Dhrishtadyumna

  and Yudhishthira in savage battle.

  The Kaurava troops, getting the worst of it,

  flew away in all directions, Bhishma

  powerless to stop them. Duryodhana,

  for whom any reverse seemed like betrayal,

  reproached Bhishma harshly: “You and Drona

  are allowing my army to be slaughtered

  by the Pandavas. If I had known

  you would be soft on them, Karna and I

  would hav
e devised a different strategy!”

  Bhishma rolled his eyes to heaven in fury

  and despair. “How often have I told you

  that Arjuna and Krishna are invincible?

  We are doing everything we can—I vow,

  in front of all your kinsmen, that today

  I shall hold at bay the sons of Pandu!”

  At this, Duryodhana was mollified.

  Bhima and Duryodhana, old enemies,

  pitted themselves fiercely against each other

  until Bhima, smiling wrathfully,

  hurled a heavy lance with enormous force

  denting the breastplate of the Kaurava

  so that he sank back, fainting, in his chariot,

  and was driven rapidly away.

  His troops, seeing him retreat, defeated,

  scattered in fear, Bhima pursuing them

  with a joyful roar, killing hundreds.

  Meanwhile, Bhishma, faithful to his vow,

  was tearing apart Pandava divisions

  like a tiger savaging its prey.

  The sound of men and animals collapsing

  in their armor was like an avalanche

  of rocks clattering down a mountainside.

  Only one Pandava was capable

  of withstanding so terrible an assault.

  Arjuna hated to fight the patriarch

  who had loved and nurtured him from childhood.

  But Krishna urged him forward, whipping up

  the spirited white horses.

  That was combat

  the like of which was never seen before.

  Each warrior released a spate of arrows

  which the other shot down with his own.

  Arjuna was holding something back

  although he fought with great skill and panache,

  causing Bhishma to shout in admiration.

  But Bhishma had made a vow, and he inflicted

  such dreadful damage on the Pandava troops

  that Krishna was in despair, seeing clearly

  that, at this rate, a Pandava defeat

  was certain. He raised his divine weapon,

  his discus, Sudarshana, flung down the reins

  and, though he had undertaken not to fight,

  he ran toward the patriarch.

  Bhishma cried,

  “I welcome you, lord of the universe.

  What better fate than to be killed by you?

  I shall be honored in all the three worlds!”

  Krishna exclaimed, “It is your wrong action

  that is at the root of this murderous war.

  You should have prevailed on Dhritarashtra

  to curb his son.”

  “Krishna, I tried,” said Bhishma.

  “Let destiny take its course.”

  As Krishna raised

  the lethal Sudarshana to fling it,

  Arjuna tore across and seized his arms.

  Krishna broke free, energized by rage,

  but Arjuna knocked his feet from under him

  and brought him down. They glared at one another.

  “Krishna, you shall not do this! It is I

  who am pledged to crush the Kauravas.

  You are my charioteer—that was agreed.

  I will stretch every nerve to keep my word.”

  At this, Krishna’s fury was appeased.

  He mounted the chariot.

  Battle recommenced

  with its cacophony, so appalling

  that kites and vultures seeing, smelling flesh

  were nonetheless driven to a distance

  yet, then, forgetting, greedy, circled back

  to hover for a time above the field.

  Arjuna, lit up by new resolve,

  blazed into action. His bow Gandiva

  thrummed like thunder, shaking the very heavens.

  Like a dense swarm of locusts, outstripping

  the fastest wind, the Terrifier’s arrows

  tore into the heart of the enemy,

  and none was wasted; each one found its mark.

  Whatever lance or javelin or arrows

  were directed at him, he intercepted

  and shattered with his own unerring shafts.

  Nothing Bhishma or the other Kauravas

  flung at him succeeded in its aim.

  He, on the other hand, devastated

  the enemy. With the setting sun

  about to mark an end to the day’s battle,

  he took the powerful Mahendra weapon,

  invoked its power with the proper mantras,

  drew back his bowstring to its full extent

  and let Mahendra fly above the field

  where it rained down showers of flaming arrows,

  scorching the enemy. Those arrows stripped

  men’s armor from them, piercing heart and head,

  or melted it on their backs, so that they died

  in agonizing pain.

  “Enough! Enough!”

  screamed the Kauravas. As the sun went down

  on that day’s victory for the Pandavas,

  Duryodhana’s men dragged themselves wearily

  back to their camp, exhausted and downhearted.

  Sanjaya continued:

  The fourth day of the war. The Kauravas

  moved forward in a formidable array.

  Elephants were adorned with dazzling cloths

  in festive colors, as if this were a day

  of celebration. Bhishma rode in front,

  his own brilliant banner flying high.

  But hearts quailed when they saw the Pandavas

  marching toward them, led by Arjuna.

  Their army was arranged in a vast crescent,

  as the day before; four thousand elephants

  on each flank, packed shoulder to shoulder,

  advanced like the approach of doom itself.

  Bhima was the hero of that day.

  Determined to engage with Duryodhana,

  Wolf-belly launched himself among the enemy,

  mace whirling, roaring like a man possessed.

  Alhough the Kauravas were well equipped

  and organized, advancing like massed storm clouds,

  Bhima, a hulking one-man war machine,

  rolled on, relentless, with great loss of life.

  Among the several hundred infantry

  he sent to Yama’s realm with his deadly mace

  were fourteen of Duryodhana’s brothers.

  Abhimanyu and the sons of Draupadi

  supported him, as he wiped out an entire

  elephant division, inexorable

  as death personified, his mace swinging,

  dripping with blood and flesh. The dead animals

  looked like a range of hills, and their riders

  lay slumped over their necks, like fallen trees.

  Meanwhile Dhrishtadyumna, Satyaki

  and Ghatotkacha killed tough adversaries.

  Then Duryodhana rallied his divisions

  to attack Wolf-belly, and succeeded

  in smashing him into unconsciousness.

  Seeing this, the powerful Ghatotkacha

  flew to his father’s aid, wild with fury.

  Master of sorcery, he took the form

  of a monster, riding a giant elephant.

  He engaged with Bhagadatta; and Bhishma,

  seeing that Bhagadatta was struggling,

  called a halt for the day. The Pandavas

  surged back to their camp in exultation.

  Dhritarashtra sighed. “Oh, Sanjaya,

  you tell me constantly about the Pandavas,

  how splendid their skill, how immense their courage,

  etcetera, etcetera—how is it

  that you never give me a grain of comfort,

  never speak of my poor son’s success?

  Is there no end to the sorrow I must bear?

  I feel as if I’m foundering in an ocean

  with only my two arms to
bear me up.”

  “Your memory is selective, majesty.

  But it is true that you will have to hear

  the dire consequences, as they unravel,

  of your weakness, greed and faulty judgment.”

  Dhritarashtra was pacing up and down,

  restless and fearful. At last he burst out,

  “The Pandavas are indulged by the gods—

  luck favors them, or perhaps it is some trick.

  We have always been unfortunate.”

  “Not luck, not tricks,” said Sanjaya, “but virtue

  favors them. Simply—they are in the right.

  Your sons are sinful; and victory favors

  the righteous.

  “Now I shall describe to you

  how the war continued. But, out of pity,

  I shall spare you some of the worst details.

  As the relentless killing goes on and on,

  day after day, I shall conjure for you

  only the main events—though I could make you

  listen to stories of such suffering

  as would detain us for a hundred years

  and still there would be more to tell, and hear.

  Think of all time’s patient increments

  that go to make a single human life;

  and think about the casual waste of it—

  that, O king, multiplied by millions,

  is what your fatal failures have achieved.”

  Duryodhana, grieving for his brothers,

  went to Bhishma. “How can this have happened?

  You, Drona . . . so many great warriors,

  well armed, well prepared, are fighting with us—

  your joint prowess is unparalleled.

  Yet the Pandavas ride all over us.

  Explain all this to me.”

  “What is the point,”

  said Bhishma, “of explaining it to you

  when I have tried so very often before?

  For the final time—it will be impossible

  for you to overcome the Pandavas

  while Krishna Vasudeva is their guide.

  He is Narayana, lord of the universe,

  born in human form to protect the earth,

  to rid it of its demon infestation;

  and Nara, his companion, is Arjuna.”

  Bhishma told Duryodhana the story

  of how, once, in a meeting of the gods,

  Brahma had begged the supreme lord, Vishnu,

  to take birth in the human world, to save it

  from the demons who were oppressing it.

  Vishnu consented, and was born as Krishna,

  Yadava prince. And Bhishma recited

  an ancient hymn of praise to the supreme lord.

  Duryodhana began to feel a deepening

  respect for Krishna and for the Pandavas.

  Bhishma went on, “He blesses his devotees.