Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (49 page)

is impossible!” Krishna smiled at him.

The following morning, there was no battle.

Both Pandavas and Kauravas attended

the son of Ganga. Around his bed of arrows

throngs of people jostled—the kind of crowd

that might be gathered at a holy site—

pushing for a glimpse of the great man.

The pain from Bhishma’s wounds was agonizing,

and he burned with fever. “Water! Bring water!”

Pots of cooling, citrus-flavored water

were brought at once, but Bhishma rejected them

and called for Arjuna. The Pandava

took his bow and, consecrating it,

shot into the earth a well-aimed arrow.

Up gushed a fountain of pure, sparkling water

of heavenly scent and taste. All who saw it

trembled in awe.

Bhishma quenched his thirst.

He praised Arjuna, so that Duryodhana

heard every word. “Most excellent of warriors,

performer of feats of which the very gods

are incapable. Just as the eagle

is to other birds, as Mount Himavat

is to mountains, so are you to archers.”

Then he said to your son, “Listen to me—

you’ll never defeat this man; even the gods

together with the asuras could not do it.

I beg you—make peace with the Pandavas.

Divide this prosperous kingdom as before.

Too many brave men have already died;

think now of the thousands upon thousands

who could still return to their far-flung homes,

seeing their wives and children lit by joy,

who otherwise will sleep their final sleep

here in the choking mud of Kurukshetra.”

Having said this, Bhishma became silent.

To rise above the torture of his wounds,

he closed his eyes and moved into a state

of profound meditation. Duryodhana,

having heard him, frowned, turning away

like a dying man refusing medicine.

Later, when the crowds had dispersed, Karna

went to where Bhishma lay, and sat quietly

at the patriarch’s feet. Apprehensive,

choked with tears, he spoke. “Best of Bharatas,

I am Karna, son of Radha—Karna

whom you have always looked upon with hate.”

Slowly, Bhishma opened his clouded eyes

and reached out to Karna like a father.

“Come, my young rival, I know who you are—

Vyasa told me. You are not Radha’s son,

but Kunti’s. I feel no hatred for you.

If I have been harsh, dismissive even,

it was because you were so full of pride,

so scornful of true worth. I know your virtues,

your military prowess, your devotion

to truth, your generosity with alms,

your loyalty—though it is unfortunate

that you attached yourself to such company,

becoming hard and envious yourself.

You set your face against me—that is why

I have been harsh. And also to avert

family discord. But all that is over;

now I feel only goodwill toward you.

I only wish that you could find it in you

to join with your true brothers, the Pandavas.”

“Bhishma,” said Karna, “that is impossible.

Having for so long enjoyed the wealth

and friendship of Duryodhana, I cannot

betray him now. For him, I will abandon

my wife, my children, everything I own,

my life itself. Besides, I have done so much

to antagonize the Pandavas,

and I am incapable of giving up

my fierce hostility to Arjuna.

I know he is invincible, and yet

I am resolved to conquer him in battle.

With a cheerful heart, I shall go to fight him.

I ask your approval for my enterprise,

and beg that you forgive me for anything

I may have said to you—whether from anger,

brashness or a lack of due respect—

that gave offense. I beg you, pardon me.

“Death is not the worst. A kshatriya

should not die feebly, stewing in his bed.

I must do what is right.”

“Go then,” said Bhishma.

“You shall have my blessing on your choice.

For years, I have done all within my power

to prevent this futile war, and I have failed.

Fight your necessary fight with Arjuna.

Fight him calmly, with no pride, no anger.

Through him, you will certainly attain

the afterlife a kshatriya deserves

who dies in battle, firm of heart and mind.”

Karna knelt to receive Bhishma’s blessing.

Then he went back to Duryodhana.

Janamejaya said:

“After the great Bhishma was cut down

and the news was carried to Dhritarashtra,

how did the blind king survive the sorrow?

Tell me in detail, Vaishampayana.”

Vyasa’s disciple spoke:

Hastinapura. Endless days of waiting.

For the blind king, life seems to be suspended

as he sits and waits, waits for Sanjaya

to come with further news from Kurukshetra.

He mourns the bitter loss of the great Bhishma—

how can the Kauravas prevail, deprived

of the patriarch? They must be floundering.

But even now, even though Bhishma lies

dying on his painful bed of arrows,

Dhritarashtra entertains some hope

that his son will yet defeat the Pandavas.

At last Sanjaya arrives with recent news

and the news is worse than nightmare—great Drona,

who had succeeded Bhishma as commander,

has been struck down. The master is no more.

When Dhritarashtra heard from Sanjaya

of the death of the supreme weapons master

his limbs turned to water and he fell

fainting to the ground. The women with him

rushed to lift him up, and gently placed him

on the throne, weeping, fanning him

until he began to move. When he revived

he cried to Sanjaya, “Dead? Impossible!

Greatest of warriors, the man who taught

generations of fine kshatriyas

everything they know of the arts of war

cannot be dead! It must have been some chance,

some freak accident. Oh, Sanjaya,

I foresee a time when you and I

will have to kneel before Yudhishthira

as abject supplicants with our begging bowls.

It is clear that, struggle as we may,

the gods’ design, pitiless time, propels us

where it will. It is as if I too am dead,

as if Mount Meru had collapsed, the sun

fallen from the firmament . . .

“But tell me

how it came to this. Who brought himself

to kill that peerless brahmin? Dhrishtadyumna?

But why was he not stopped? Why was Drona

not protected by his friends and allies?

Yet—who could stand against the might of Krishna

and those he protects, for he and Arjuna

are Nara and Narayana incarnate,

one divine soul split between two bodies.

Oh, how is my son bearing this disaster?

What’s to be done? Who has replaced Drona?”

Seeing that, even now, Dhritarashtra

was hoping for victory for the Kauravas,

Sanjaya described the dire events

that culminated in the death of Drona.

When Bhishma lay down on his bed of arrows

never to rise again, the Kauravas

were utterly bereft. They were like a boat

foundering far from land on violent seas.

Their thoughts turned to Karna—he was the hero

who could save them from terror and defeat!

“Karna! Karna!” they cried. The driver’s son

came to them at once. The time had come

for him to play his part. He addressed the troops.

“The Kauravas have lost their great protector,

their pinnacle. If the patriarch, towering

like a mountain, can be thrown like this,

should we not reflect on the impermanence

of all things? Surely all of us are drifting

toward the jaws of death, all transient.

Considering this, all that remains is duty.

Why should we be afraid? I am ready

to take up the burden left by Bhishma.

“Bring my bright armor, sparkling with gold and gems;

heft it onto my shoulders. Bring my fine bow,

my quivers, my belt patterned like a serpent.

Bring out my horses, my well-fashioned chariot,

my standard, adorned with blue lotus flowers.

I will fight with all my reserves of strength

in the cause of noble Duryodhana.

I shall crush his enemies, or else

I shall sleep soundly on the field of battle.

Either is honorable.” When they heard this

the Kauravas, heartened beyond measure,

sent up a great cheer.

Then Karna went

back to the place where Bhishma lay, his eyes

closed in meditation. A small awning

had been erected over him, to shield him

from the sun’s relentless rays. Karna wept

to see that paragon of mind and spirit,

that prince of warriors, foremost Bharata,

reduced to this. Karna approached him humbly

with joined palms. “It is I again, Karna,

come to seek encouragement. I know

the power residing in the Pandavas.

Who could defeat Arjuna if you,

with all your skill, all your celestial weapons,

could not prevail? Yet I must believe

that I can kill him. Give me a word of comfort.”

“My child,” said Bhishma, “your great loyalty

to your friends is legendary. In warfare,

remember all you have achieved till now—

the kingdoms conquered for Duryodhana.

The Kambojas, the Kiratas, the Kalingas

and many other clans were brought by you,

by fearlessness and through sheer martial skill,

into the fold of our expanding kingdom.

Be to your friends as Vishnu to the gods.

Firm of purpose, be an inspiration,

lead them on the path which you have chosen.”

Karna, cheered by these auspicious words,

stooped to touch the feet of the patriarch.

Then he rode back to the Kaurava camp.

Duryodhana drew great reassurance

from Karna’s firm resolve. He told himself

that Bhishma’s heart had been with the Pandavas—

that was why he had not defeated them.

But Karna was a warrior whose loyalty

was beyond question. He asked his friend’s advice:

“Now that Bhishma is no longer with us,

who should take his place as supreme commander?”

Karna replied, “There are many great contenders

but the one who stands above them all

is Drona, the wise teacher. He should be asked.

Only he can command the confidence

of every warrior in your fighting force.”

Humbly, and with lavish words of praise,

Duryodhana approached the old master

and, to the frenzied cheering of the troops,

appointed him to lead the entire army.

“I am honored,” he said. “The Pandavas

will find it difficult to fight with me.

But I cannot kill Dhrishtadyumna,

son of Drupada; that man is destined

to be the death of me. Now, you should say

what is the outcome that would please you most,

and, if I can, I shall accomplish it.”

“Well then,” said cunning Duryodhana,

“I want you to seize Yudhishthira alive

and bring him to me.” Drona was astonished.

Did Duryodhana perhaps intend,

after all, to give up half the kingdom?

“But why do you not seek his death?” he asked.

Duryodhana smiled. “If Yudhishthira dies,

I can’t win. Arjuna would never rest

until he had slaughtered every one of us.

But as my prisoner, saintly Yudhishthira

can be enticed into another dice game,

which he will lose, and off he’ll have to go

back to the forest, and his brothers with him.

There we are! The kingdom remains mine.”

Drona disliked this plan, but he had promised

to do his best to fulfill the prince’s wish.

“I can attempt so bold a capture only

if Arjuna can somehow be drawn away,

leaving Yudhishthira without protection.”

“You had better succeed,” said Duryodhana,

suspecting him of partiality

toward the Pandavas. He then ensured

that Drona’s promise was made known to all,

so he could not renege—with the result

that Yudhishthira came to know of it.

Arjuna promised he would be protected.

With ceremony and with great rejoicing

the army witnessed Drona’s consecration.

Then he ordered the troops into battle lines

with Karna leading the chariot warriors.

The driver’s son, though he was now deprived

of the breastplate and earrings he was born with,

glowed with a golden light, tall and beautiful,

and all who saw him felt their hearts lift, thinking,

“Bhishma is lost to us, but we have Karna;

Karna will save us from catastrophe.”

Staring at him across no-man’s-land,

Arjuna stood resplendent on his chariot,

Gandiva
at his side, the monkey banner

fluttering above him. At the reins

was Krishna, with his discus,
Sudarshana
,

a luminous circle hanging in his hand

as though he held the wheel of time itself.

Karna, Arjuna: perfectly matched archers,

each with the other’s death within his sights.

Which would inflict defeat upon the other?

As the armies surged across the field

the earth shuddered and, from the glowering sky,

a torrent of blood and bones poured down, and vultures,

jackals and other scavengers appeared,

circling greedily, howling, screeching.

White-haired Drona, as though a youth again,

scorched the well-trained Pandava divisions

like whirling fire consuming a great forest,

his reserve of celestial weapons raining

death onto the struggling enemy.

His bow was like a bolt of monsoon lightning

flashing amidst dark clouds of deadly arrows.

The ground was slippery with blood, and marrow

oozed from the mangled bodies of the dead—

numberless heroes now already traveling

to Yama’s realm. Soon it was a crimson

river of blood, swirling with severed limbs

and broken chariots.

Careful Yudhishthira,

mindful of the plan to capture him,

asked Arjuna to stay close. The Terrifier

assured him the stars would tumble from the sky

before Duryodhana would have his way.