Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (47 page)

“How is it,” said the blind king, “that our army

does not conquer easily? Our men

are excellently trained in every branch

of warfare; they are chosen for their skill,

not for their connections. They enjoy

generous pay, their families are cared for.

They are respectable, honest, disciplined—

and yet they’re being killed in vast numbers.

This can only be because the gods

have willed it so. And what is ordained

cannot be otherwise.”

“There is no need,”

said Sanjaya, “to implicate the gods.

What a man sows, he reaps, and this disaster

is the fruit of your own foolishness.

But listen to the way the day developed.”

Early on, heroic Bhima broke

through into the Kauravas’ crane formation,

pushing deep into the enemy lines.

The Kauravas exulted, “Now we’ve caught him!”

But Bhima, unafraid, took up his mace

and made a dash for Duryodhana’s brothers,

for he had sworn, “I will end the evil life

of every last one of Dhritarashtra’s sons

who mocked Draupadi in the gambling hall.”

Many of them died, and many hundreds

of the Kauravas’ fiercest fighting men.

Dhrishtadyumna, fearful for Bhima’s life,

plunged after him, following the trail

of elephants brought down by Bhima’s mace.

When Duryodhana saw him, he cried out,

“Death to the wicked son of Drupada!”

and spurred on his men. But Dhrishtadyumna

loosed
Pramohana
, an unearthly weapon,

which took away the Kaurava troops’ senses

so they fell unconscious to the ground. Drona

neutralized it with another weapon,

and the men sprang up, ready to fight again.

Drona, former guru to all the princes,

knew very well which side was in the right.

But he remembered whose food he had eaten

all these years, and what he owed the king.

With enormous energy, he attacked

the advancing Pandava battalions,

churning them up like eddies in a stream,

killing hundreds.

Yudhishthira, anxious

for Bhima’s safety, sent twelve warriors,

including Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s son,

together with their divisions, to support

Bhima, who was hard pressed. The Kauravas,

seeing those strong heroes advancing on them,

stopped attacking Bhima. Then there followed

a fierce battle. The sons of Dhritarashtra

and the sons of Kunti, with their followers,

fought with all their strength, and there was no one

who did not receive many painful wounds.

Young as he was, Abhimanyu fought

with dazzling skill. His gold-flecked arrows, flighted

with the gorgeous feathers of the kanka bird,

and tipped with tempered iron, hissed like snakes

as he danced on his chariot like an acrobat.

The battlefield resembled a lake of blood

whose grayish islands were slain elephants,

whose boats were chariots, whose floating debris

were bodies without number. Remarkable

that courage never failed on either side.

Finally, as the sun was sinking, Bhima

made an all-out assault on Duryodhana.

“Your miserable life is almost over.

Now you will pay for all your many insults,

for all the sorrow you piled on Draupadi

and Kunti, for the bitter deprivation

the sons of Pandu had to endure for years.

Prepare for death!” And Bhima bent his bow

and loosed shaft after shaft like blazing lightning.

Duryodhana’s standard, bearing the emblem

of a jeweled elephant, glittering,

was seen to topple, spin and fall to earth.

Then Bhima turned his bow on his hated cousin

and wounded him badly, smiling in delight.

Duryodhana’s brothers had to rescue him.

But Bhishma slaughtered many Pandava troops

before both sides retired for the night.

Duryodhana was carried to his tent

bleeding and faint. He was heavy-hearted

and said to Bhishma, “Our troops are well prepared,

brave and disciplined, yet the Pandavas

made carrion of them today. Oh, Grandfather,

I am consumed with grief.” Bhishma laughed

grimly. “The Pandavas and their strong allies,

Krishna above all, are tireless, mighty

in skill, and full of burning rage against you.

They will be difficult to overcome.

But I swear, I will strain every sinew

to give you victory and make you joyful,

even if I die in the attempt.

All the kings who have mustered in your cause

will do the same.” Duryodhana was consoled.

Bhishma gave him a salve, and the agony

of his deep wounds gradually abated.

Sanjaya went on with his account:

Day followed day in carnage on a scale

that could not have been imagined. Every night,

as the sun dipped out of sight, the fighting

was suspended, and the surviving troops

plodded back to camp, spent, sorrowful.

So many corpses, heads and limbs and trunks,

so many slaughtered animals of war,

lay crushed into the mud that, with the dawn,

the armies marched out over claggy ground

buzzing with blowflies feasting on rank flesh.

Best breathe through their mouths. Best not look down,

in case the sight of sightless eyes, parched mouths,

looked too much like their own. In case they saw

the mangled breastplate of a friend or brother.

But they were kshatriyas. They had always known

that they were on the earth to fight, kill, conquer,

above all, to be brave, in certain hope

of heavenly reward. That was their dharma.

It seemed the whole world was consumed by horror.

Yet, only a short walk away, farmers

were tending fields, feeding their soft-eyed oxen,

women were cooking, babies being born.

The next two days were slog and butchery,

death and heroism. In each army

hardly a man or horse or elephant

had not been wounded. Yet they battled on.

Many duels were fought, most inconclusive.

Arjuna invoked the
Aindra
weapon

and the Kauravas were put to flight,

floundering in terror and confusion

until Bhishma rescued them. The sight

of Arjuna, with his glittering diadem,

confronted by the stately Bhishma, dressed

all in white, drawn by his ice-white horses,

dazzled even the heavenly spectators.

Meanwhile, Drona went after Virata

and killed his horses and his charioteer.

Virata mounted the chariot of his son,

Shankha, and Drona, drawing back his bow,

aimed at Shankha an arrow as venomous

as a poisonous snake, striking him dead.

Virata withdrew, weeping for his son.

Yudhishthira, usually so mild, now

was incandescent with rage and energy.

His chariot seemed to appear everywhere

so that the Kaurava troops feared for their lives,

and indeed he massacred many hundreds

and wounded thousands, so that injured men,

their clothing bright with their life’s blood, resembled

a beautiful forest of kimshuka trees.

Shikhandin started an attack on Bhishma,

then retreated, as Shalya defended him.

“Remember your vow!” cried Yudhishthira,

“your promise to inflict death on Bhishma.”

But Bhishma, sworn not to fight Shikhandin,

instead, did battle with Yudhishthira

and his troops with dreadful effect, killing

the Pandava’s fine horses.

Abhimanyu

fought with great flair and ferocity

against the brothers of Duryodhana,

but did not kill them, as he knew that Bhima

had sworn he would perform that deed himself.

When the sun sank below the distant hills,

the armies halted, and walked back to their tents.

In the camps, the soldiers were well cared for.

Arrows were extracted from their bodies

and wounds were dressed. Brahmins carried out

propitiatory rites for them, and poets

sang praise-songs to their bravery and skill.

On the eighth day, a youth came to Arjuna.

The young man was Iravat, Arjuna’s son

by Ulupi, daughter of the Naga king.

A warrior of immense abilities,

he had come to introduce himself

when Arjuna was living in Indra’s realm.

Arjuna had embraced him joyfully

and asked him to support the Pandavas

in their struggle to regain their kingdom.

Now Iravat was here.

He set to at once,

mounted on his beautiful chariot,

and, since he was a master of illusion,

he and his troops managed to confound

the bewildered Kauravas, killing hundreds.

Duryodhana, seeing what was happening,

asked the rakshasa Alambusha,

accomplished illusionist, to intervene.

He was related to the monstrous Baka,

whom Bhima had dispatched at Ekachakra.

An extraordinary battle followed,

each fighter seeking to confuse the other

with trickery, while they went for the kill.

They were young, old, singular and many,

human and monstrous, all at different times.

At last, Iravat turned into a snake;

Alambusha, becoming a fierce eagle,

snapped him up, and quickly beheaded him.

Witnessing the death of Iravat,

Ghatotkacha cried out in grief and outrage—

roared so loudly that the ground vibrated,

deep-rooted trees keeled over, and the sky

echoed with the thunder of his cries.

The Kauravas shook at that unearthly sound.

Ghatotkacha, summoning his forces,

rushed against Duryodhana’s divisions.

“Now you will pay,” he cried, “for all your vileness

toward my fathers and lovely Draupadi.

Quit the field, or else endure my vengeance!”

Onslaughts of arrows followed, a deluge

pelting down onto the Kaurava army

and on Duryodhana in particular.

Bhishma, knowing the supernatural power

of Ghatotkacha, ordered reinforcements

to protect Duryodhana, and there began

a ferocious fight between Bhima’s son

and the best divisions of the Kauravas.

The battle was chaotic—so many standards

were shot down, it was impossible

to tell which side was which, and in the heat

and delirium of the moment, some were felled

by the weapons of their friends and kinsmen.

Elephants, urged on to pierce the enemy,

instead ripped open the flanks of their fellows,

or became entangled. Panicking horses,

dragged down by partners slaughtered in their traces,

pawed the ground wildly, struggling to break free.

As time went on, Ghatotkacha began

to tire. Yudhishthira, observing this,

sent Bhima to his aid. The mere approach

of the mace-swinging Pandava spread terror,

and many among the Kauravas took flight

to attack the enemy elsewhere in the field.

Duryodhana blazed up with renewed courage,

and made for Bhima, fracturing his bow.

Drona, seeing the danger, rushed forward,

and instantly was pierced by Bhima’s arrows

so deeply that he sank down, unconscious.

Drona’s son, Ashvatthaman, threw himself

quickly into the fray, but Ghatotkacha

created the illusion of defeat,

an apparition of a million corpses,

with all the greatest warriors—Duryodhana,

Drona, Ashvatthaman, Shalya—seeming

to retreat. Seeing this, the Kauravas,

dismayed, fled away in all directions.

Hearing of the death of Iravat,

Arjuna’s heart was wrenched with bitter grief.

“Oh, Krishna, how could anything be worth

this dreadful carnage of the flower of youth

by the million, for the sake of wealth?

Yudhishthira was right to try to bargain

for a mere five villages. Yet, because

Duryodhana would not even grant us that,

we are obliged to fight.” He urged Krishna

to drive the chariot into the thick of battle,

and great was the damage he inflicted there.

Bhima, too, with superhuman strength,

fought, killing many of your valiant sons,

like a wolf let loose among a herd of goats.

Bhishma, rallying the Kauravas,

battled like one inspired, and instilled courage

into every man who fought beside him.

When night came on, and the troops withdrew,

Duryodhana went, disheartened, to his tent.

Karna, Shakuni and Duhshasana

joined him, and they sat around discussing

the way the day had gone. Duryodhana

was in despair at the lack of progress.

The Pandavas seemed fresh and strong as ever,

and he had lost so many of his brothers

at the hands of Bhima, bent upon revenge.

“Is our army being strongly led?

Bhishma seems ineffectual. Meanwhile

our forces shrink, our weapons are dwindling.

I am wondering whether victory

can ever come our way as things are going.”

“Bhishma is old,” said Karna, “and every day

he shows how much he loves the Pandavas.

Besides, he enjoys the fight. Why, then, would he

do what it would take to end the war?

Ask him to withdraw. When he has laid aside

his weapons, I myself will take up arms,

and, single-handed, I will kill Arjuna,

with his friends and brothers, in front of Bhishma.”

Duryodhana was fired up. “Let it be so!

Bring me fine clothes, and dress my retinue.

I shall visit Bhishma. When he consents

to my proposal, I shall come to you.”

Duryodhana proceeded formally

to Bhishma’s tent. Tears in his eyes, he spoke.

“When I undertook this war, I trusted

your great prowess in the martial arts.

I trusted that you could crush the Pandavas.

You promised that you would do this for me.

You have not done it. I beg you, Grandfather,

make your promise true. Or, if you love them—

or hate me—too much for that, then Karna

should fight instead. He will demolish them.”

Bhishma was deeply hurt and insulted,

but did not show it. He answered quietly.

“Why do you say these things, Duryodhana,

when you know I am ready to die for you?

The Pandavas really are invincible—

I, Narada and the other sages

have told you so innumerable times.

Think about it! Think of Arjuna

and the tremendous feats he has performed,

witnessed by you. Think of the Matsya kingdom,

and how the diadem-crowned Pandava

overcame us single-handed, when we

attempted a raid on Virata’s cattle.

Think of dark Krishna.

“You are not seeing straight.

But tomorrow, I will destroy their allies,

including Drupada’s Panchalas—except

Shikhandin. I will defeat them, or, if not,

I will yield to death.”

Duryodhana

bowed his head, and went back to his tent

where he slept through the night. The next morning,

he announced that Bhishma would accomplish

the defeat of the Pandavas’ strongest allies.

“But he vows that he will not fight Shikhandin.

Therefore, we must take every precaution—

protect him zealously at every turn

against attack from that effeminate prince.”