Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  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.

  Wolf-belly had complained to Arjuna

  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.