Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  Soon it was too dark to see—only

  men calling out their names made it possible

  for the two sides to know friend from enemy;

  quite soon, the general uproar prevented

  even that. Chaos and carnage followed.

  Men lashed out wildly, horses stampeded,

  nocturnal scavengers were on the prowl.

  Then blazing flambeaux, fixed to chariots,

  illumined scenes resembling hell itself.

  “Tell me what happened next,” said Dhritarashtra.

  “Which well-armed warriors fought against each other?”

  “Many were the duels that took place

  in that infernal night,” said Sanjaya.

  “Suffice it to tell you that, before the sun

  cast cruel light on the fifteenth day of war,

  valiant Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s son,

  huge as a hill, loved by all who knew him,

  of supernatural strength and bravery,

  clever conjuror of occult illusions,

  was killed by Karna. This is how it happened:”

  In the general battle, Ghatotkacha’s son

  was killed by Ashvatthaman. Enraged by this,

  Ghatotkacha, with other rakshasas,

  set on Ashvatthaman, who invoked

  celestial weapons, of which he is a master,

  and wounded Ghatotkacha, rendering him

  unconscious. Dhrishtadyumna gathered him up

  and had him placed on another chariot.

  Meanwhile Yudhishthira, like one inspired,

  fought off yet another attempt by Drona

  to capture him. The Pandava troops, heartened,

  pressed hard on the Kauravas, pushing them back.

  Duryodhana appealed to Karna. “Friend,

  you must save our troops—they are surrounded

  by hostile forces.” Karna reassured him:

  “Arjuna is the linchpin of the Pandavas.

  I plan to kill him with the fatal spear

  I obtained from Indra—I am saving it

  for him. All the other Pandavas

  and their allies will collapse without him.

  When I turn them into porcupines

  with my onslaught of arrows—I shall give you

  the entire earth and everything that’s on it.”

  Kripa, overhearing, ridiculed him.

  “If words were weapons, Karna, Duryodhana

  would have in you a wonderful protector!

  But words are what give brahmins their distinction;

  kshatriyas become heroes by force of arms,

  not by building chariots in the air!

  The fact is, driver’s son, you have never fought

  the Pandavas and beaten them. Your boasting

  is like the roaring of dry thunderclouds.

  Your roars will soon stop when you meet Arjuna.”

  Karna met this provocation calmly.

  “True heroes always roar like clouds in autumn

  and, like a seed dropped on the earth, in season

  they deliver fruit. You should understand

  that boastful speeches on the eve of battle

  are the way a hero prepares himself,

  having agreed to a great undertaking.

  They are part of mental resolution,

  inviting destiny to lend him strength.

  These boasts of mine are never mere hot air,

  but quite intentional. As for you,

  you are old, unskilled—and a brahmin.

  Furthermore, you love the Pandavas.

  You extol their achievements, but our troops

  have slaughtered their divisions by the thousand.”

  At this, Ashvatthaman, a brahmin too,

  and furious at the insult to his uncle,

  drew his sword and started to threaten Karna,

  until Duryodhana intervened: “Come, friends,

  forgive each other. We need you to focus

  on the task ahead.”

  At the braying challenge

  of the Pandava conches, and the shouting,

  “Where is Karna? Come on! Fight with us!”

  Karna went out calmly, and alone.

  There followed spectacular feats of skill

  on Karna’s part. Against the Pandava host

  he held his own, and dispatched many hundreds,

  splitting apart divisions, so men wandered

  hither and thither, aimless as stray cattle.

  Seeing his troops afflicted, Arjuna

  entered the fray, skirmishing with Karna,

  killing his four horses and his driver.

  Karna jumped up onto Kripa’s chariot,

  but the Kaurava troops started to withdraw,

  smelling defeat, and fearing Arjuna.

  Duryodhana cried to them, “Defend Karna!

  Don’t run away, you cowards! I’ll fight myself

  to show you how to challenge Arjuna!”

  And he prepared to rush into the fray.

  Kripa called to Ashvatthaman, “Stop him!

  He’s like an insect flying into flame.

  Don’t let him get anywhere near Arjuna

  or he’ll be burned to ashes!”

  “It isn’t right

  that you should expose yourself to the enemy,”

  said Ashvatthaman. “Let me fight instead.”

  Duryodhana turned on him, in a frenzy:

  “You and your father love the Pandavas—

  is that why you never do me good?

  Maybe you have a fondness for Draupadi!

  But what can I do but rely on you?”

  “It’s true, the Pandavas are like my brothers,”

  said Ashvatthaman. “But I know my duty—

  this is war, and I am a warrior

  in your service. Battle is my calling.

  Today, seeing my feats, Yudhishthira

  will think the whole world filled with Ashvatthamans!”

  “Go then,” said your son, “and do your best.”

  Bhima came face to face with Duryodhana,

  both full of wrath. It was a short encounter.

  Bhima aimed a blazing spear; the Kaurava

  cut it in three as it sped toward him.

  Then Bhima hurled his mace with ferocious force,

  smashing Duryodhana’s horses and chariot,

  pulverizing them, so the troops who saw it

  dimly, in the murkiness of night,

  thought Duryodhana himself had met his end.

  Karna fought a duel with Sahadeva.

  The Pandava, desperate for glory,

  gave the battle everything he had,

  using every weapon and, when they ran out,

  hurling anything that came to hand

  in a furious onslaught. All of this

  Karna deflected easily. Then he said,

  “You should fight your equals, Pandava.

  Go and join your brother over there.

  Or perhaps you would be better off at home.”

  He touched Sahadeva lightly with his bow.

  Sahadeva wept with humiliation.

  In the darkness, it was difficult to tell

  what was happening. But courageous Karna

  acquitted himself with honor. He defeated

  Dhrishtadyumna after a long fight

  and made deep inroads into the Pandava troops.

  His bow glowed in a shining blur of arrows,

  as he almost danced on his chariot platform

  like the chief of the celestials.

  Arjuna, thwarted by the lack of progress,

  said to Krishna, “I should confront Karna

  and fight him to the death—his or mine.”

  “No,” said Krishna, “that time has not yet come.

  Karna carries the celestial spear

  Indra gave him. He’s reserving it for you.

  Let ferocious Ghatotkacha fight him.

  You apart, he is
the only one of us

  who can stop Karna. He is superbly skilled;

  he has celestial and magic powers—

  and ogres’ strength is quadrupled at night.”

  Ghatotkacha, his blood-red eyes alight,

  slavered at the prospect of the kill.

  “I shall easily dispatch Karna

  and my fame will be sung till the end of time!”

  He was an awesome sight, gargantuan

  with pointed teeth, skin bristly and colored

  blue and red. He wore a diadem

  of jewel-encrusted gold, and on his chariot,

  drawn by fierce, impatient demon horses,

  a hundred bells tinkled merrily.

  With zest, he rushed at Karna, and there followed

  such a combat, such a thrum of bowstrings,

  such a wielding of celestial weapons,

  such an invocation of illusions

  that men in the two armies, witnessing,

  thought they had never seen such a display.

  The two were matched so evenly that neither

  could gain the upper hand. Ghatotkacha

  assumed many forms—sometimes a mountain,

  then a thumb-sized creature, or many-headed

  monster. Every time he changed his shape

  Karna saw through the trick, and launched at him

  torrents of spears and arrows, both man-made

  and celestial. The courageous rakshasa

  shattered Karna’s bow, but he seized another.

  Ghatotkacha turned into a thundercloud

  and rained down stones, which Karna pulverized

  as they fell. He conjured the illusion

  of demon hordes, fierce as hungry tigers,

  but Karna destroyed them all. And so the duel

  went on and on, wonderful to behold.

  Meanwhile, the rakshasa Alayudha

  approached Duryodhana with a large force,

  to offer his support. He had waited years

  to avenge his monstrous kinsmen, Baka

  and Hidimba, dead at Bhima’s hands.

  Now he saw his opportunity.

  Duryodhana was, of course, delighted,

  and the ogre troops heartened the Kauravas

  with their loud roars and wildly clattering chariots.

  Then, it seemed, every man on the battlefield

  flung himself into the fray with curdling cries

  as if this battle could decide for good

  the outcome of the whole disastrous war.

  Sparks from clashing weapons lit the darkness,

  revealing for a moment the expressions

  of rage and anguish. Some men carried torches

  which threw garish light, making more profound

  the pitchy blackness that surrounded them.

  Alayudha made his way to Bhima

  to settle scores with him. The two fought

  ferociously, with great resourcefulness,

  but blow by blow, illusion by illusion

  the rakshasa was gaining the advantage.

  Krishna spoke urgently to Arjuna:

  “We’re in great danger. Ghatotkacha now

  should leave Karna, and lend support to Bhima.

  Meanwhile, let Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandin

  take Ghatotkacha’s place and harass Karna.

  Nakula and Sahadeva should focus

  on killing as many ogres as they can.

  You and I should concentrate on Drona

  and his divisions.”

  Ghatotkacha flew

  to his father’s aid, and the two monsters,

  covered with wounds, clashed against each other

  like two great storm clouds, raining sweat and blood.

  Then Ghatotkacha, whirling a razor-sharp

  scimitar, sliced off Alayudha’s head

  and flung it down at Duryodhana’s feet.

  The Pandavas beat gongs and blew their conches,

  and Duryodhana started to believe

  that Bhima’s vow to kill him and his brothers

  was already as good as accomplished.

  Now came radiant Karna’s finest hour.

  Once he had been unbeatable, but now,

  deprived of the protection he was born with—

  the earrings and cuirass he had relinquished

  to Indra—he had only the deadly spear

  the wily god had given him in exchange:

  a lopsided bargain.

  But he also had

  his courage, and his extraordinary skill.

  He fought the Pandavas and the Panchalas

  in a manner that took the breath away.

  He stormed the enemy with whetted spears.

  Handsome as a god, he loosed a torrent

  of superb arrows, each finding its mark.

  He cut off in mid-flight the stream of weapons

  aimed at him. He seemed unreachable.

  So quick were his movements, no one could see

  when he touched his quivers, drew out the arrows,

  when he nocked those arrows to the bowstring,

  when he raised his fine bow and released them.

  They only saw that the dust-filled night sky

  was darkened even further by the cloud

  of Karna’s well-aimed and death-dealing shafts

  that slaughtered Pandava forces by the hundred

  and made them flee in utter disarray.

  Ghatotkacha, maddened by the sight,

  advanced again at Karna—the rakshasa

  roaring like an angry lion; Karna

  silent, focused, graceful, dignified.

  Neither of them could gain the advantage.

  Each supremely skilled, they were like dancers

  engaged in a miraculous performance.

  Ghatotkacha beheaded Karna’s driver

  and killed his horses. Then he disappeared

  and, drawing on his powers of sorcery,

  set the sky alight with flaming clouds

  and pelted down onto the Kaurava troops

  a cascade of missiles of all kinds

  so that hundreds of men and animals

  were massacred where they stood, powerless

  to fight back. “Oh, Karna,” cried the soldiers,

  “save us, for pity’s sake! Kill the rakshasa!”

  Karna knew he had few means to defend

  his forces, who were crying out to him.

  Calmly, he thought; and knew what he must do,

  although he clearly saw the consequences.

  With resolution, he took out the spear

  Indra had given him, the divine missile

  he had reserved for Arjuna, the weapon

  he had long counted on. He raised it high.

  The spear destroyed the power of trickery

  and Ghatotkacha, now visible,

  terrified, began to run away.

  Karna hurled the spear. That dreadful dart

  blazed as it flew, hissing like a snake,

  and plunged into the heart of Bhima’s son,

  felling him instantly. As he died, he shone

  like Himavat illumined by the sun.

  Then proud Karna walked away in silence.

  The Pandavas had loved Ghatotkacha

  and saw their forces, grim and demoralized,

  shed tears of grief. But Krishna was exultant,

  laughing with delight, embracing Arjuna.

  “How can you be happy,” asked Arjuna,

  “at such a time?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” said Krishna.

  “With this death, our victory is certain!

  If Karna still possessed the sacred spear

  even you could never cause his death.

  Karna is a very great hero,

  greater than you know. Generous, kind

  even to enemies, devoted to truth—

  and a warrior of consummate skill.

  There was a time when even the g
ods themselves

  could not have defeated him. That was before

  he gave away the breastplate he was born with

  and the earrings that made him invincible.

  The spear of Indra was his last advantage

  and now it has been spent! Ghatotkacha

  was created to be the instrument

  of Karna’s downfall. But make no mistake,

  it will not be easy to overcome him

  even now. You must do as I tell you:

  there will come a moment, as you fight him,

  when his chariot wheel will stick in the ground.

  Disregarding all the rules of warfare,

  you must kill him when I give the sign.

  “By means of stratagems like this, I have worked

  for your good, and for the good of Earth,

  killing Shishupala, Jarasandha,

  and Ekalavya—supremely skilled warriors

  who would have taken Duryodhana’s side.

  The rakshasas must also be removed,

  inimical to dharma as they are.

  So Hidimba died, Baka, Alambusha . . .

  If Karna had not killed Ghatotkacha

  I would have had to contrive his death myself.”

  Yudhishthira, furious and grief-stricken

  at the death of Ghatotkacha, started

  to rush at Karna, but island-born Vyasa,

  suddenly appearing, stayed his hand:

  “If Karna had not used his celestial spear

  on Ghatotkacha, it would certainly

  have found its mark in Arjuna. In fact,

  Ghatotkacha was killed by Death himself,

  making Indra’s spear his instrument.

  Divest yourself of grief and anger, Pandava;

  practice forgiveness with a cheerful heart.

  Five days from now, the kingdom will be yours.”

  “Tell me, Sanjaya,” said Dhritrashtra,

  “why did Karna waste the spear of Indra

  on Ghatotkacha? Why did he not hurl it

  at Arjuna or Krishna—surely, then,

  my son would have gained the victory?

  As it is, benighted Duryodhana

  is on a direct course for Yama’s realm.”

  “That is true,” said Sanjaya. “Each night,

  returning from the battle, everyone

  urged Karna, ‘Tomorrow, use your spear,

  your never-failing weapon, on Arjuna.’

  And that had always been Karna’s intention.

  Yet, in the event, divine illusion

  confused his understanding. It was Krishna

  who muddied Karna’s mind, to help Arjuna.”

  41.

  DRONA AND ASHVATTHAMAN

  Sanjaya continued speaking:

  Into the very blackest hours of night

  fighting continued. Yudhishthira ordered

  his best foot soldiers to converge on Drona