Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

What about your slaughter of Bhurishravas

  after Arjuna had cut off his arm,

  and as he was sitting fasting unto death?

  Was that a righteous act? And yet you dare

  to censure me! Not one more word from you!”

  Hearing this, Satyaki’s eyes bulged red.

  He seized his mace, and started to rush over

  to Dhrishtadyumna, with murderous intent;

  but Bhima leapt up and, planting his feet,

  wrapped his arms around the furious Vrishni

  and held him fast. Sahadeva spoke,

  “We are all friends here, and have been for years.

  Surely this hostility makes no sense.

  What quality is better than forgiveness?”

  But the two strong antagonists continued

  roaring at each other like raging bulls.

  Finally, only Krishna could calm them down.

  The Kauravas were in good heart again,

  encouraged by the sight of Ashvatthaman.

  He invoked the weapon called Narayana,

  more damaging than any so far seen.

  It released into the sky thousands of arrows,

  razor-edged discuses, and iron balls

  which in turn exploded into hundreds

  of metal darts, spraying down like rain

  over a wide area, piercing thousands.

  Once in the body, the darts bent and twisted

  inflicting terrible internal wounds.

  Those who were able started to run away

  and Yudhishthira, shocked at the fierceness

  and scale of the attack, was in despair,

  and was ready to surrender.

  But Krishna

  halted the fleeing troops. “Stop, all of you.

  Lay down your weapons, leave your chariots

  and stand still. Do not let yourselves even

  imagine fighting. In this way, Narayana

  will not harm you.” The troops obeyed. But Bhima,

  full of swagger, proposed that, single-handed,

  he would resist the Narayana weapon

  and overcome it. He started to attack

  and was overwhelmed immediately.

  Only because Arjuna intervened,

  using his Varuna weapon to neutralize

  Narayana, did Bhima survive. Krishna

  rebuked him, and made him cast away his mace.

  All at once, everything was calm;

  sweet breezes blew, birds sang, men and animals

  became cheerful, and geared up once more

  for battle.

  “Use Narayana again!”

  cried Duryodhana. Ashvatthaman answered,

  “That is impossible. This is a weapon

  that cannot be used twice.” With normal weapons,

  Drona’s son rode out against the Pandavas,

  and many warriors were severely wounded.

  Arjuna, cast down by what had happened,

  lashed out at Ashvatthaman. “You are proud

  of your accomplishments, proud of your love

  for the Kauravas, of your hatred for us.

  Dhrishtadyumna who has killed your father

  will follow that by crushing your pride too!”

  Ashvatthaman, hurt and furious, invoked

  the incendiary Agneya weapon. At once,

  a choking darkness blotted out the field,

  and blazing arrows rained down, burning all

  they touched. A fiercely scorching wind blew, hotter

  and hotter. The clouds rained blood. Desperate beasts

  bucked and stampeded, breathing in great drafts

  of burning air. Men’s cries were pitiful.

  It was the stuff of nightmares, multiplied.

  The watching Kauravas began to cheer

  to see their enemies so afflicted,

  but before they could draw a second breath,

  Arjuna invoked the Brahma weapon

  to neutralize the terrible Agneya.

  Instantly, darkness lifted and cool winds

  began to blow. Now the devastation

  could be seen—burnt bodies everywhere;

  one complete division had been reduced

  to a single welded mass of blackened flesh.

  But there was joy, too, at finding how many

  warriors had survived. Krishna and Arjuna

  blew their conches in triumph and relief.

  Ashvatthaman was disconsolate

  and, laying down his bow, he left the field

  and ran off aimlessly. As he wandered,

  he met Vyasa. Ashvatthaman’s voice

  was choked with grief. “O wise sir, is there no truth

  anywhere? How can this have happened?

  How did my great weapon become powerless?

  No one in the three worlds is capable

  of baffling the Agneya weapon, and yet

  only one enemy legion was destroyed

  before it petered out. And Arjuna

  and Krishna are still alive! Was there some fault

  in the way I summoned up Agneya?”

  Vyasa explained. “Mighty Narayana

  in a previous existence, long ago,

  as a reward for disciplined devotion

  to Lord Shiva, was granted boons by him.

  Nara was born as his close companion,

  and each of them would be invincible.

  In this earthly life, they have taken

  the human forms of Krishna and Arjuna.

  You too have a divine origin.

  You are a portion of the great Lord Shiva.

  Honor Krishna, whom Shiva greatly loves.”

  Calmed by these words, Ashvatthaman did so,

  and called a halt to fighting for the day.

  Then Vyasa visited the Pandavas.

  Arjuna spoke with him. “Master, tell me

  what this strange thing means: several times,

  as I have gone into battle, I have seen,

  gliding in front of me, a shining figure,

  lance in hand, whose feet do not touch the ground.

  He never throws the lance but, at his approach,

  the enemy forces break. People think

  I have destroyed them, but they have already

  been destroyed by him, as if a thousand

  lances issue from the lance he holds.”

  “It is Lord Shiva you have seen,” said Vyasa,

  “lord of the universe, all-powerful god,

  the deathless deity of many names.

  He is acting for you. Go forth, Arjuna.

  With Krishna as your counselor and friend,

  be confident that victory will be yours.”

  VIII

  THE BOOK OF KARNA

  42.

  KARNA IN COMMAND

  Two days later, Karna, now appointed

  the next supreme commander, met his death,

  cursed and alone, at the hands of Arjuna.

  Sanjaya brought the news to the blind king,

  sparing him nothing, and reproaching him.

  “Knowing that this disaster is the outcome

  of your own failings, do you not despair?

  Thinking of the loss of the greatest heroes—

  Bhishma, Drona, Karna . . . do you not despair?

  Remembering the words of your counselors

  which you ignored, do you not despair?”

  “If the blind king,” said Janamejaya,

  “hearing of Bhishma’s fall, then Drona’s death

  and now the death of Karna, his great hope—

  if the old king did not die of sorrow,

  then that is remarkable indeed.”

  Dhritarashtra fainted, as did Gandhari

  and the other women. Every last hope

  for Duryodhana’s victory had been pinned

  on Karna. Now the old king feared the worst.

  “I do despair,” he groaned. “I cannot believe

  that
such invincible heroes could be dead!

  And what of my son—is he also dead?”

  His legs buckled under him; he burned with grief.

  “Duhshasana is dead,” said Sanjaya;

  “Duryodhana still lives.” Dhritarashtra,

  slightly recovering, begged Sanjaya

  to tell him exactly how Karna had died.

  “I will,” said Sanjaya, “but a wise man

  does not despair, since the gods determine

  whether or not effort is rewarded.”

  “You are right,” said Dhritarashtra. “I will not

  despair over-much. Now, tell me everything.”

  After Drona’s brutal, unlawful killing,

  the Kauravas spent the night in misery.

  Duryodhana and his main advisers

  sat together, hour after hour, talking.

  Sleep eluded them. They kept reflecting

  on all their crimes against the Pandavas,

  knowing that they were unforgivable.

  Ashvatthaman urged Duryodhana

  to appoint Karna as supreme commander,

  praising his great prowess. Before dawn

  the appropriate rites were carried out.

  Karna was consecrated with sacred water.

  Luxurious gifts were lavished upon brahmins

  so they would pray for victory, and everyone

  felt somewhat comforted.

  Yudhishthira

  and Arjuna surveyed the battlefield

  and looked at their own forces forming up.

  “How few men are now left in both our armies,”

  said Yudhishthira. “A few short days ago,

  our ranks stretched further than the eye could see,

  yet now they look so pitiful. Today,

  I pray you will dispatch Karna, the sole

  great warrior among the Kauravas.”

  Conches announced the start of the day’s battle.

  Fierce fighting began. Although Arjuna

  thirsted to kill Karna, repeatedly

  he was drawn away by the Trigartas,

  whose dedicated mission was to slay him.

  They kept provoking skirmishes, like horseflies

  stinging a stallion, and although they suffered

  devastating losses, they persisted,

  squad upon relentless squad of them.

  Later, Arjuna fought Ashvatthaman,

  who inflicted painful wounds on him.

  Suspecting restraint, Krishna was impatient.

  “Arjuna, why are you not finishing him?

  Ashvatthaman is immensely dangerous

  and, just as a disease, if left untreated,

  will cause more trouble later, so it is

  with him.” Arjuna increased his efforts.

  But Ashvatthaman, knowing that Arjuna

  and Krishna were invincible, withdrew.

  Karna was whirling round the battlefield

  standing high on his chariot, armored in gold

  like the sun himself. He was formidable,

  attacking the Panchalas and Srinjayas

  like a lion savaging a herd of deer.

  He killed hundreds, and mutilated more,

  while Ashvatthaman pursued the Pandyas.

  The field was littered with the jeweled limbs,

  heads and trunks of numberless fallen heroes.

  Karna fought a duel with Nakula.

  Onlookers might have thought them evenly matched,

  but Karna could have killed the younger man

  with little effort, had he not borne in mind

  the solemn promise he had made to Kunti.

  Nakula sustained only slight wounds

  and was withdrawing when Karna, with his bow,

  hooked him back as if he were a fish.

  “Just stick to your equals,” he said, laughing,

  and let him go. Nakula shook with rage

  and humiliation.

  Yudhishthira

  fought with Duryodhana, while their forces

  battled around them. The fight was long and hard

  although eventually Yudhishthira

  got the better of it, and could have killed

  his opponent. But Bhima, seeing this,

  reminded him that he himself had vowed

  to send Duryodhana to the afterlife.

  So Yudhishthira withheld his weapons,

  and your son, in great pain and enraged,

  limped back to camp, face like a thundercloud.

  The sun had almost set. But now, at last,

  Karna and Arjuna met face to face—

  the greatest warriors in all the world!

  For each, the other was the ultimate,

  the glorious partner, destiny incarnate.

  Almost like lovers, ardent and obsessed,

  they rushed eagerly toward each other.

  Only one would walk from Kurukshetra;

  the other’s blood would feed this tragic soil.

  But this was not the final act, not yet.

  This was not a duel between two heroes

  but a fierce battle between the armies

  which the heroes led. And Arjuna,

  piloted by Krishna, did most damage,

  thickly raking the Kauravas with arrows

  without respite, so that the battle seemed

  to be raging under a mesh of shafts.

  Battered and wounded, hurled out of their vehicles,

  crushed by their own elephants, stripped of armor,

  weapons spent, the exhausted Kauravas

  had never been more grateful for the dusk.

  Joyless, they limped and straggled back to camp.

  Late that night, in Duryodhana’s tent,

  Karna took stock. “No doubt Arjuna

  is a redoubtable and skilled opponent.

  His bow Gandiva is celestial,

  but my bow is finer—the great Vijaya

  given to me by my respected teacher.

  My prowess as an archer surpasses his.

  No one has more courage than I do.

  My will to win is absolute. But he has

  Krishna—that is what makes him formidable.

  Krishna advises him. Krishna inspires him.

  Krishna is an unearthly charioteer,

  weaving and dodging with the speed of light.

  Then, too, Arjuna’s horses are immortal

  and swift as thought; chariot, impregnable.

  “Nevertheless, I have vowed to kill him.

  Tomorrow, he will die, and I will give you

  victory over all the world, or else

  I myself will die attempting it.

  To redress the balance of advantage,

  I would like Shalya as my charioteer—

  no one exceeds his expertise with horses.

  If he will do it, nothing on earth can stop me.”

  Knowing Shalya would certainly take umbrage

  at being asked to drive for a driver’s son,

  Duryodhana spoke to him with honeyed words.

  When he heard your son’s proposal, Shalya

  was incandescent with hurt pride and anger.

  “I am a king, a distinguished warrior!

  I could split the earth with my bare hands—

  see the muscles on these arms of mine!

  The driver’s son is vastly my inferior;

  how can you ask me to be his underling?

  This is an insult! I will not fight at all.

  Farewell—I shall depart for my own kingdom.”

  “It is an unusual request, I know,”

  said Duryodhana. “I realize

  that those belonging to the driver caste

  should be the servants of kshatriyas,

  not the reverse. And you are a great warrior,

  ruler of the Madras, virulent dart

  in the contemptible skin of your enemies.

  But Karna was a foundling, as you know.

  Look at him,
his stature, his massive chest;

  think of the natural armor he was born with—

  how could he really be of inferior birth?

  Would his guru have taught celestial weapons

  to one whom he regarded as unworthy?

  “Arjuna is able to crush our forces

  only because Krishna is his driver.

  You are the only warrior we have

  who can be compared in skill with Krishna.

  Just as Karna is greater than Arjuna,

  so your skill with horses is superior

  by far to Krishna’s. Agree to this, my friend,

  I beg you; help Karna crush the Pandavas.”

  Reluctant, but flattered, Shalya acquiesced—

  but specified that he would speak to Karna

  as he felt inclined, not with deference.

  Duryodhana, relieved, reminded him

  that in the war between the gods and demons,

  great Brahma acted as the charioteer

  of Shiva, who was able to destroy

  the triple city with a single arrow.

  It was the seventeenth morning of the war.

  The armies, much reduced, were riding out

  to meet each other. The Kauravas rejoiced

  to see Karna, resplendent on his chariot,

  brilliant as the lord of light himself,

  driven by Shalya. Impervious to fate,

  full of cheerful trust and optimism,

  they did not pay attention to dire portents—

  thunder in a cloudless sky, fierce winds,

  a shower of bones tumbling around them.

  Karna’s horses stumbled as they set out

  to tumultuous cheering from the ranks.

  As they traveled, Shalya bore in mind

  the promise he had made to Yudhishthira

  that he would say and do all in his power

  to shake Karna’s resolve and confidence.

  “Do not think, Shalya, I am afraid to die,”

  said Karna. “Simply, I cannot tolerate

  any harm coming to Duryodhana.

  Among his warriors, only I am able

  to protect him and deliver victory.

  With my beautiful bows, my blazing sword,

  in my gorgeous chariot draped with tiger skins,

  I will, today, send Arjuna to the realm

  of Yama—and if all the celestials

  were to combine forces to protect him,

  with you as my driver I would vanquish them!”

  Scornfully, Shalya laughed at him. “Stop now!

  Stop these empty boasts, driver’s son,” he said.

  “Think of the many brave and marvelous feats

  Arjuna has performed. Remember how

  he burned the Khandava Forest; how he snatched