Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (35 page)

The Kauravas now knew who they were facing.

They knew the deep bray of that battle conch;

they heard the well-known thundering vibration

of
Gandiva
; they saw the monkey banner.

Drona said, “This bodes no good for us.

The peerless archer is coming to do battle.

The earth is shaking, our men have lost their nerve

and do not want to fight. Let us retreat.”

“Teachers are wise,” said Duryodhana,

“they’re good at telling stories to their pupils

but, faced with danger, do they have good judgment?

Beware a pundit who praises the enemy!

The Pandavas have broken the covenant—

it is not yet the end of the thirteenth year.

Therefore they will have to resume their exile—

another thirteen years in the wilderness.

Meanwhile we should protect our captured cattle

and support our allies, the Trigartas.”

Karna addressed Drona. “I at least

have the courage to fight the Pandava

and take the captured cows to Hastinapura.

Today, I shall kill Arjuna. My arrows

will fly toward him like a swarm of locusts.

His monkey standard will tumble in the dust.

Why fear him? I am as good as he is.

With my weapons obtained from Jamadagnya,

I would even fight Krishna himself!”

“Son of Radha, you are always boasting,”

complained Kripa, frowning with irritation.

“Arjuna has great victories to his credit.

What have you ever done single-handed?

Go on—tell me! You must have lost your wits

if you think you are a match for Arjuna.”

“Yes, you’re full of air,” said Ashvatthaman.

“The cows have not yet stirred from the Matsya lands.

What man of sense would brag about achievements

not yet performed? When have you ever triumphed

over an enemy through martial valor?

Through what heroic feats did you subdue

Draupadi at the dice game? The Pandavas

were cruelly wronged—tricked out of their kingdom,

their virtuous wife outrageously insulted.

Certainly they will not forgive such treatment,

and now they will be thirsting for revenge

like raging lions released from captivity.

No one can defeat the Left-handed Archer.

Duryodhana—you can fight him if you wish,

fight as you fought in the gambling hall!

Let cheating Shakuni fight the Pandava!

Even if my father decides to fight

I, for one, refuse to take up arms.”

Bhishma said, “What you say is accurate.

But I think the son of Radha spoke those words

not as a mindless boast, but to fire us up

to fight, as is fitting for kshatriyas.

We should not be squabbling amongst ourselves.

Prince—the words you spoke concerning Drona

should not have been said.” Duryodhana

apologized; Drona was mollified.

“The sons of Kunti are men of principle,”

said Bhishma. “According to my calculations,

the thirteenth year has passed. They have served their time.”

“Grandfather,” said Duryodhana, “I shall not

give up the kingdom to the Pandavas.”

“I understand,” said Bhishma. “But for now,

that is not the issue. We have to fight

as best we can.” The son of Ganga quickly

gave orders for a battle strategy.

Surveying the ranks of the Kauravas

as Uttara drove the chariot ever nearer

at full gallop, Arjuna pointed out

the fine emblazoned flags of his oppponents

fluttering above their chariots: Drona’s

with its distinctive water gourd, Karna’s

boldly displaying a scarlet elephant.

“And see that tall, impressive white-haired man

standing erect, bow in hand, gauntleted,

a sparkling white umbrella shading him,

whose banner has sun and stars on azure blue?

That is Bhishma, grandfather to us all.”

Now that they were within arrow range

Arjuna scanned the field for Duryodhana,

knowing that if he could defeat the prince

the others would give in. He could not see him.

“I think that coward’s taking the cattle south

while the others make a stand. Let us skirt round

and find him.” Uttara slewed the chariot round.

Drona, guessing Arjuna’s intentions,

urged his soldiers to attack his rear,

but the Terrifier pelted them with arrows

so that they scattered in complete confusion.

He blew his conch, his chariot wheels thundered,

the monkey on his standard screeched aloud,

and the great din made the advancing enemy

freeze in their tracks, and the Matsya cattle

bellow, wave their tails and head for home,

calves pitifully bawling for their mothers.

The towering Wearer of the Diadem

fought with each one of the Kaurava heroes,

and although he generally refrained

from inflicting mortal wounds, he overcame

each of them. Having killed Karna’s brother,

he engaged Radha’s son in a bitter fight

until Karna retreated, badly hurt.

Fierce battle continued. Tireless, Arjuna

unleashed his flights of arrows like a storm

raging through the ranks of the Kauravas

and leaving many dead—young champions

sprawled and bleeding in their finery.

Indra, accompanied by other gods,

arrived on glittering, airborne chariots

to watch the way the weapons they had given

were put to use. Karna advanced again:

“Now is the time, suta’s son,” said Arjuna,

“for you to verify those boasts of yours.

Reap the reward of the disgraceful insults

you heaped upon the blameless Draupadi!

Just now you fled away from the battlefield,

unlike your brother. That is why you’re alive

and he is not. Shame on you, son of Radha!”

Karna fought skillfully, inflicting wounds

on Arjuna, but at last, hit in the chest,

he was forced to withdraw, despite his boasts.

So was Vikarna, Duryodhana’s brother,

after a well-aimed arrow from
Gandiva

shot his elephant from under him.

At this, Duryodhana ran from the field.

All this time, Uttara drove the chariot

with skill and courage. Then Arjuna told him

to catch up with the son of Dhritarashtra

who was running for his life. “Duryodhana!

Remember how kings behave!” shouted Arjuna.

“Turn round and show your miserable face.”

Stung by the insult, Duryodhana turned

and found his courage. The other Kauravas,

even though they were bleeding from their wounds,

rallied to his support. Then Arjuna

blew
Devadatta
yet again and, this time,

the Kauravas, stupefied, fell to the ground.

Arjuna, remembering his promise

to Virata’s women, told Uttara

to run and strip the rich, colorful robes

from the unconscious heroes. “But keep clear

of Bhishma—he will not have lost his wits,

he knows how to counter this conch of mine.”

Uttara quickly obeyed.

Duryodhana,

when he revived, blamed the other Kauravas

for the way the Pandava had won the day.

Bhishma laughed, “What did you do yourself?

It is only because he did not wish to kill us

that we are still alive. Now, let us depart.”

Seeing them leave, Arjuna paid his respects

to the elders. Then, taking up his bow,

he shot Duryodhana’s headdress from his head

by way of farewell.

“My brave Uttara,”

he said joyfully, “turn the chariot round.

The cows are safe, the enemy is gone.

Now we will rest the horses but, meanwhile,

send messengers with all speed to your father

announcing your outstanding victory.”

Returned in triumph to his happy city

after his victory over the Trigartas,

Virata was rejoicing with his court

when he heard that Uttara had ridden out

to fight the Kauravas—with just the eunuch

as charioteer. The king was horrified.

Full of dread, he ordered a pursuit,

but then messengers arrived, announcing

that Uttara was safe, the cattle captured,

the enemy reduced to a shame-faced rout.

Virata was relieved and overjoyed,

full of paternal pride in Uttara.

“Let the whole city be decked out with bunting.

Let my ministers and other notables,

together with drummers, singers, dancing girls,

go out to meet my valiant Uttara!

And let his sister, with her handmaidens,

go to welcome home the dancing master.”

While he waited, the king played Yudhishthira

at dice. “Just imagine,” said Virata,

“my son has defeated the mighty Kauravas!”

“How could he lose, driven by Brihannada?”

replied the gaming master. Furious,

the king shouted, “How dare you praise the eunuch

in the same breath as my son!”

“I merely know

that only Brihannada could have taken on

the powerful Kauravas, and beaten them.”

Virata, enraged, hurled the heavy dice

which struck Yudhishthira so that his nose

began to bleed. He caught the blood in his hand

and Draupadi, reading his intentions,

brought a bowl, to catch the falling drops

before they reached the ground.

Soon, Uttara

made his triumphal entry to the city.

Seeing the gaming master dripping blood,

and knowing who he really was, he asked

what had happened. “I struck him,” said his father.

“When I was praising you, he praised the eunuch.”

Uttara was aghast. “You have done wrong!

Please ask his forgiveness, lest the brahmin

exact a terrible revenge.” Virata

did so. “I’m not angry,” said Yudhishthira.

“Cruelty is easy for the powerful.

But if my blood had fallen on the ground

you and your kingdom would have been destroyed.”

“Now, my brave son,” said the king, “I wish to hear

everything about your great achievement.

How was your fight with Duryodhana?

How did you conquer Drona? And great Bhishma?

Tell me every single blow, in detail.”

Arjuna and the prince had planned beforehand

how the victory would be explained.

“Father,” said Uttara, “it was not I

who won back our fine cattle from those thieves.

It was not I who beat the Kauravas.

All this was done by the son of a god.

I was fleeing in terror when that god’s son

stopped me, and took my place on the chariot

while I drove him. He did everything.

He sowed panic among the Kauravas.

It was that hero who won victory

and crushed our enemies. It was not I.”

“Where is that glorious warrior,” asked Virata,

“that god’s son who has saved for me my own son

and my cattle?”

“He has disappeared,

but he will be here in a day or two.”

With the king’s permission, Brihannada

presented his daughter, Princess Uttaraa,

with the clothes captured on the battlefield—

beautiful and valuable fabrics.

The princess and her friends laughed in delight.