Mahabharata
Page 55
As Arjuna and Krishna traveled back
to the battlefield, Arjuna grew worried
about the task ahead—to kill Karna.
Krishna spoke words of calm encouragement.
“Think about it. He has long supported
your cousin’s wicked acts—and, but for him,
Duryodhana would not have risked this war.
He is much at fault—not from self-interest,
but from devotion to Duryodhana,
and from abiding rivalry with you.
He wants to give Duryodhana the world.
Without doubt, Karna is a towering force,
but even he is not invincible.
“On your cousin’s side, five great warriors
remain—Ashvatthaman, Kripa, Shalya,
Kritavarman and Karna. You may well
be reluctant to kill Ashvatthaman
out of your old devotion to his father,
your beloved teacher. You possibly
feel the same for Kripa, your first guru.
Shalya and Kritavarman are your kinsmen
on your maternal side. That may mean
that you will shy away from harming them.
But you should have pure enmity for Karna,
as he does for you. Your noblest duty
is to kill him—kill him today, Arjuna;
redress the wrongs against the Pandavas!”
A new zeal took hold of Arjuna.
“Today, killing Karna in single combat,
I vow to free us from the grief we’ve harbored
for all these years, and bring joy to my brothers.
I shall pay my debt to the Panchalas,
honor the memory of Abhimanyu
and all our fallen heroes, and prove myself
worthy to possess the great Gandiva!
Today, Draupadi will be avenged!”
He bent his bow, and wiped the bowstring clean.
“Arjuna has returned to join the battle!”
shouted Wolf-belly’s driver. Bhima’s relief
was so great, he rewarded his charioteer
with twenty chariots, fourteen villages
and a hundred female slaves! Sadly,
the man did not live to enjoy these riches.
In the desperate assault that followed
huge losses were inflicted by both sides,
mainly achieved by Karna and Arjuna
although the two did not come head to head.
In a slight lull in the hostilities,
Arjuna came within sight of Karna.
Like a swollen river in full spate,
Karna was laying waste to the enemy
and warriors’ bodies, chariots, animals
were scattered all around, like fallen trees.
Then the thunder of Arjuna’s chariot
was heard, coming closer. “Karna,” cried Shalya,
“the man you’re seeking is approaching fast.
Attack! No one else can overcome him.
Summon your great skill.”
“Ah,” said Karna,
“for the first time, I feel you are on my side.
I shall strain every nerve to kill Arjuna.
I know the son of Pandu has no equal.
He can shoot a dozen arrows in the time
another man shoots one. And he has Krishna.
Seeing them advance toward me, I sense
my skin grow cold, my hair standing on end.
But I also feel a calm resolve.
My whole life has prepared me for this battle.
If I fail, I shall sleep on the black earth.
Either way, I shall achieve my purpose.”
The Kaurava army was now breaking up
in dismal disarray, deserting Karna,
cowed by the force of Arjuna’s attacks.
But Karna, with unruffled authority,
rallied them to come to his protection.
He was like a rock to which they clung.
Karna’s son, Prasena, lost his life,
and Karna, in furious revenge, renewed
his onslaught on the Panchalas, killing
Dhrishtadyumna’s son, wounding Shikhandin.
Meanwhile, Duhshasana was fighting Bhima.
The mortal enemies wounded each other
with arrows; then Bhima took up his mace.
“Today, wicked soul,” he roared, “I shall drink
your pulsing blood, as I have sworn to do.”
He hurled the mace with such force Duhshasana
was knocked the distance of at least ten bow-lengths
and lay writhing in agony on the ground.
Bhima saw, in vivid memory,
this man assaulting blameless Draupadi
in the gaming hall. He sprang forward,
planted his foot on Duhshasana’s throat
and, ripping his chest open with his sword,
drank the warm blood from his still-beating heart,
gulping it down with relish. “This blood tastes
better than honey, better than mother’s milk!
Soon I will also end Duryodhana’s life,
honoring the second vow I made.”
All who witnessed this were terrified.
Bhima’s sheer animal ruthlessness
appalled Karna. “Take heart,” said Shalya, “focus
on Arjuna; he’s your only business now.
And here is your eldest son, Vrishasena,
rushing to your support.”
Vrishasena,
seeing that his father was set back
by Bhima’s act of butchery, launched himself
against the Pandavas. He mangled Nakula,
then vented his anger against Arjuna,
lodging arrows in him, and in Krishna.
The Kauravas were joyful. But wiser heads
knew that these great warriors would swat him
as if he were an irritating fly
whenever they saw fit. Indeed, Arjuna
wrathfully called to Karna, “I know that you,
together with other wicked Kauravas,
killed my son, courageous Abhimanyu,
when he was unprotected and alone,
contrary to all the rules of war.
For that I have vowed to kill this son of yours,
and after that, send you to Yama’s realm!”
Then, with ease, Arjuna took his bow
and with a few razor-headed arrows
cut off the arms and head of Vrishasena
who, like a lovely flowering tree that’s stricken
by a bolt of lightning, fell to earth.
Karna, scorched by grief, rushed at Arjuna.
“Keep a cool head,” said Krishna. “Our brave army
is breaking up in terror at the sight
of Karna galloping full tilt toward us.”
“Our victory is assured,” said Arjuna.
“Contemptible Karna is already dead!”
Even at this late hour, Ashvatthaman
approached Duryodhana, arguing for peace.
“Listen to me, you know I am your friend.
Stop the fighting. Arjuna and Krishna
are impossible to beat. The Pandavas
never wanted war for its own sake—
you forced it on them. If now you offer them
half the kingdom, I know they will agree.
Offer peace, and regain their goodwill.
The whole kingdom will be better off.
I will be the go-between in this,
and I will speak to Karna.”
Duryodhana
was silent. He considered. Then he sighed.
“What you say is good sense, Ashvatthaman.
But think how Bhima killed Duhshasana
as though he were a beast. And the Pandavas
will never trust me, thinking of the ways
I have made them suffer. How can there be peace?
Arjuna i
s tired from his many battles—
Karna still has a chance of killing him.
I know you’re speaking with the best intentions
but—no. Now, hurry back to the front line.”
The time had come. This would be the duel
that would decide the outcome of the war.
It struck onlookers that the two combatants
looked surprisingly alike: both tall,
broad-chested, well-proportioned, beautiful,
both god-like in their energy and strength.
Among the demons and celestial beings,
some supported Arjuna, some Karna.
The sky was for Karna, the earth for Arjuna.
Vaishyas, shudras and those of mixed descent
cheered for Karna, while Arjuna was the hope
of the higher orders.
The gods themselves
were divided between the two heroes.
Indra supported his son, Arjuna,
while Surya sought victory for Karna.
Karna asked Shalya, “Tell me, if I am killed
what will you do then?” Shalya replied,
“I will myself kill Krishna and Arjuna.”
Arjuna asked Krishna the same question.
“Arjuna,” said Krishna, smiling, “the earth
will split into a thousand jagged fragments
before Karna will succeed in killing you!
If it did happen, it would be a sign—
the last days of the world would be approaching,
and I would kill both Karna and Shalya
with my bare hands!” Arjuna was joyful.
“Today I shall grind Karna in the dust,
and make sorrowing widows of his wives.
Today, Abhimanyu’s grieving mother
will receive some comfort, and today
Kunti will receive the news she longs for.”
To the deafening sound of drums and conches,
the two great heroes closed on one another
like two clashing banks of rain-filled cloud,
or like two maddened elephants in season.
Although each warrior was supremely skilled
at cutting the other’s arrows in mid-flight,
soon blood was flowing freely on both sides.
Bhima, thinking Karna was doing better,
squeezed his hands in rage. “Come on, Arjuna,
how can you let your arrows miss their mark!
Think how this wretched man insulted us!”
And Krishna, too, reproached him. “Arjuna,
the Kauravas are cheering as though they think
Karna has won. Take Sudarshana,
my razor-headed discus, and separate
Karna’s head from his contemptible body!”
Arjuna braced himself for greater effort.
He invoked the lethal Brahma weapon,
but Karna, smiling, baffled it in mid-flight,
rendering it harmless. Arjuna
called up other celestial weapons, able
to inflict huge damage. So did Karna.
He fought with such panache, such superb skill,
it looked as if he would certainly prevail
as arrows poured in torrents from his bow.
The watching Kauravas yelled with delight.
But the battle was not over. The fine bodies
of both great warriors were slick with blood
but both had plentiful reserves of strength,
courage and energy. Karna released
five arrows like snakes, piercing Krishna
and passing through him to sink into the earth.
In fact, these were snakes indeed, related
to one Arjuna had killed at Khandava.
Incensed, Arjuna cut up these arrows,
and sent them winging back with such force
that Karna, deeply wounded, trembled in pain.
Then Arjuna sprayed the surrounding Kauravas
with such a dense onslaught of darts and arrows
that the sky turned black. They fled in terror.
Unsupported, Karna felt no fear
but rushed at Arjuna with a joyful heart.
O king, never before has there been seen
a duel between such transcendent warriors.
Having many weapons of different kinds
at their disposal, the two fighters displayed
miraculous and beautiful maneuvers;
and the celestials, watching from the sky,
shouted in admiration, sprinkling
the heroes with cool, perfumed sandal-water.
Ashvasena, Arjuna’s snake enemy,
managed to insinuate himself
into Karna’s quiver, where he took shape
as a blazing arrow. Nocked on the bowstring,
he caused the sky to shimmer with evil portents—
thunderbolts and fiery meteors.
“Use another arrow,” shouted Shalya,
“that one will not have the effect you want.”
But Karna rejected the advice, and loosed
the awe-inspiring arrow. It seemed to carve
a channel in the firmament as it flew
straight for Arjuna’s head. Calmly, easily,
Krishna pressed down the chariot with his feet,
causing it to sink. In this way, the arrow
did not behead Arjuna, but merely knocked
his lovely jeweled diadem to the ground.
The Pandava bound his hair with a white cloth.
The snake hissed at Karna, “When you shot me
you did not aim with care. That is why
I was unable to decapitate him.”
“Who are you?” asked Karna.
“I am a hater
of Arjuna, my mother’s murderer.
Shoot me again, and you will quickly see
his head knocked from his shoulders.” Karna said,
“Karna will not win through another’s power;
and I will not shoot an arrow a second time.”
“As you please,” hissed the snake, and he aimed himself
straight at Arjuna—who sliced him up
in mid-flight, and sent him writhing, spinning
to earth.
Krishna righted the chariot
and, as he did so, Karna attacked.
Arjuna, with several well-judged shots,
penetrated Karna’s armor; exultant,
Karna struck him back, laughing aloud.
Arjuna, with preternatural skill,
stripped Karna of his beautiful gold headdress,
his jeweled earrings, and his shining armor,
then wounded him so deeply and severely
that Karna gasped, staggered, streamed with blood.
The driver’s son set down his bow and quiver,
thus signaling a respite. Arjuna,
observant of the rules, let fall his bow,
but Krishna urged him on. “Don’t let up now!
Karna is your hate-filled enemy.
Kill him while you can—as Indra did
when he slaughtered the demon Namuchi.
Arjuna obeyed, and soon Karna
was spiked with arrows all over his body.
But, rallying, he snatched up his fine bow
and pelted Arjuna with fiery shafts.
Now he struggled to recall the words
of the mantra for the highest Brahma weapon,
but his mind was blurred; he could not grasp them.
His inner light was wavering in him.
The hour of Karna’s death was fast approaching.
Time itself, whispering in his ear,
told him that Earth was starting to devour
his chariot wheel. The chariot lurched, tilted
and stuck fast in the ground. His lovely bow
fell from his hand. Mortally wounded now,
wringing his hands in despair, Karna cried,
“I hav
e followed dharma, but righteousness,
after all, does not protect the righteous.
Instead, righteousness is destroying me!”
As Krishna and Arjuna closed in on him
Karna climbed down from his chariot
and struggled to release his mud-bound wheel.
“Hold off!” he cried. “Only a coward strikes
when his opponent has laid down his arms.
Arjuna, you are a man of principle,
you observe dharma—do what you know is right!”
Krishna shouted, “It is well and good
for you to plead dharma when you’re in trouble.
Where was dharma when you outraged Draupadi?
Where was it when you helped Duryodhana
to plot the murder of the Pandavas?
And where, when you connived in their exile?
And when young Abhimanyu was outnumbered,
where was dharma then?”
Karna bowed his head.
He picked up his bow. Then Arjuna destroyed
Karna’s glittering bejeweled standard,
symbol of Duryodhana’s ardent hopes.
Seeing that, a shocked lament arose
from all the watching Kauravas. Arjuna
took out his hefty arrow Anjalika
with blade as broad as two hands joined together
and, placing it in his bow Gandiva,
he prayed that it would find its rightful mark.
And aimed. Anjalika, flaming like a comet,
flew with unearthly speed, straight and true,
and struck off Karna’s head. It fell to earth
as the red disc of the sun drops at sunset.
It was afternoon.
As Karna’s head and trunk
fell, still lovely, glistening with blood,
the light that always seemed to shine from him
left his body, and rising through the sky,
traveled to the sun, and merged with it.
Everyone saw that. Karna’s fallen head
lay like a quenched fire after a sacrifice,
or like a boulder loosed from a mountainside
by a violent storm.
When Karna fell,
the rivers ceased to flow, the sun turned pale,
the planet Mercury seemed to change its course
and the earth trembled.
It is said by some
that as Karna’s spirit left his body,
he saw a brahmin (Krishna in disguise)
who asked him for gold. Having none to give,
with a stone, Karna knocked out his own teeth,
with their gold caps, washed them, and offered them.
Then Krishna granted him the supreme vision
of his divine self, riding on Garuda,
and promised him whatever boon he wished.
Karna considered choosing victory
for Duryodhana. But he asked, rather,