Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (53 page)

into the flame that is the mighty god

and saw there the ritual night-offering

he had given Krishna earlier.

Shiva granted them the powerful weapon,

showed them where to find it, and how to use it.

Thus, for the second time, the son of Kunti

received the terrifying
Pashupata
.

Joyfully, the heroes worshiped Shiva

and returned to earth, and blissful sleep.

“Tell me, Sanjaya,” said Dhritarashtra,

“after they had slaughtered Abhimanyu

so contrary to dharma, so unfairly,

how could our warriors hold up their heads?

And when they heard the great conch
Devadatta
,

how could they march out to face Arjuna,

grim as all-destroying Death himself?

I fear what you will tell me. Oh, my friend,

I wish we had made peace with the Pandavas.

If only we had taken heed when Krishna

came as their envoy. But Duryodhana

was foolish and stubborn, and this holocaust

is the result.”

“You should blame yourself,”

said Sanjaya. “You had a hundred chances

to guide your son with a restraining hand.

You pandered to his greed—your lamentations

are like the hollow clank of empty vessels,

and come too late. What is done is done.

If you had set your son on the right path,

if you had heeded wiser heads than yours,

this disaster never would have happened.

O king, prepare yourself—your misery

has only just begun. Now I shall tell you

what happened on the fourteenth day of war.”

Arjuna woke refreshed and confident.

He took his bath and performed his devotions.

Yudhishthira was woken by the sound

of his musicians welcoming the dawn.

After his morning rituals were over

he held a meeting of his greatest warriors.

Turning to Krishna in deep respect, he begged

that he would do all he could for Arjuna.

Krishna reassured him. “Arjuna

will certainly fulfill his vow this day.”

Arjuna, worried for Yudhishthira,

asked Satyaki, that undefeated warrior,

to make all efforts to protect the king.

Everything that could be done was done:

horses fed and harnessed, the chariots

and weapons checked and blessed, well-fitting armor

carefully tied on. Last, the great standard

bearing the emblem of the divine monkey

was fixed in its socket. With a last embrace

between the brothers, the fighting day began,

a day of make or break, a day of truth.

The blare of conches, the relentless beat

of numberless war drums struck the Kauravas

like a summons to eternity.

More than any of them, Jayadratha

was trembling with terror and dismay.

But as Drona laid out his battle plan,

and as he blew his conch with confidence,

the Sindhu king started to take heart.

Drona had mobilized his divisions

into a complex wheeled cart formation;

behind it, an impenetrable lotus

and, inside that, a strong needle array.

All these forces, well trained and determined,

stood between Jayadratha and his fate.

Arjuna, at the vanguard of his army,

where the densest arrow showers would fall,

was imposing—tall, muscular and graceful,

with shining eyes. Driven by dark-skinned Krishna,

he stood high on his gleaming chariot

upright, his black hair streaming out behind him.

His armor glittered. He was garlanded,

and on his head was the dazzling diadem

given to him by his father, Indra.

His jeweled earrings sparkled in the sun.

Relaxed, alert, he grasped his bow
Gandiva
,

while, above him, the great ape on his standard

bared its teeth and snarled at the enemy.

Battle began. Arjuna’s whole effort

must be to penetrate the Kaurava force

to reach Jayadratha. He told Krishna

to drive at your son Durmashana, the prince

positioned in the vanguard of your army.

The onslaught was devastating, and broke up

the front ranks of the Kauravas, who fled

under the fury of his attack. Heads

by the hundred were severed in a flash

of well-aimed arrows, and tumbled to the ground

like heavy fruit, while, for a short moment,

headless trunks fought on before they fell.

Duhshasana’s strong elephant division

joined the battle then, but did no better

and retreated, bristling with arrows.

Now, Arjuna formally approached Drona.

He joined his hands in respect. “Master,” he said,

“as your pupil, I claim your protection.

Look upon me as if I were your son.

Allow me to put the Sindhu king to death

as he deserves, and as I have sworn to do.

Help me keep my word.”

Drona smiled slightly.

“If you want Jayadratha, take me first!”

and he pelted Arjuna with arrows,

wounding his horses, severing his bowstring.

Arjuna fought back, volley for volley,

weapon for weapon, white horses against red.

This was a contest between the most skilled warriors,

a demonstration of most dazzling prowess.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky,

Krishna urged Arjuna to leave the duel

and keep his mind fixed on the main objective.

“What?” cried Drona, “Are you giving up

on an opponent who is not yet beaten?”

“You are not my opponent,” said Arjuna,

turning away from him, “but my dear master.”

Mounting an assault on Drona’s forces,

Arjuna released a thousand arrows

in the time a normal fighter would fire ten.

Kauravas fell by the hundred. Pandavas

also suffered losses. And Arjuna

was knocked senseless by a well-aimed lance

flung by Shrutayus. Quickly recovering,

he invoked the
Shakra
weapon, which spewed out

many thousands of straight and speedy arrows,

and the Kauravas were washed glistening red

as bloody fountains sprang from elephants,

horses and men, splashing to the ground.

Gaining, yard by yard, Krishna drove forward

until at last they broke through Drona’s lines

and shattered the well-planned lotus formation

as the Kauravas scattered in disarray.

Horrified, Duryodhana rushed over

to where Drona stood. “It’s a disaster!

Arjuna is scorching our infantry

like a raging fire consuming tinder.

It is as if my troops were feeble children!

How long have you eaten at my table?

I have pampered you in every way,

yet I know your heart is with the Pandavas—

I was a fool to trust you!” Drona sighed.

He was expecting this; Duryodhana

could not bear things not to go his way

and had to find somewhere to pin the blame.

The tantrum soon passed. “Forgive me, Drona—

put it down to rage and disappointment.

We must at all costs guard Jayadratha.

What hinders you?”

“It’s the sheer speed,” said Drona.

“Those horses are the finest in the world,

and Krishna drives with supernatural skill,

swerving, dodging through the smallest gaps.

I am not young, pace is not my strength.

I propose that you protect Jayadratha,

block the Pandava from getting near him,

while I attempt to seize Yudhishthira.”

“But how can I do that,” groaned Duryodhana,

“when even you have failed? The gods themselves

couldn’t stop him.”

“I have a solution,”

said Drona; and he gave Duryodhana

a gleaming, finely wrought golden breastplate

and fastened it on, chanting secret mantras,

tying it with sacred
Brahma
strings.

Pausing only to receive Drona’s blessings,

Duryodhana, restored to confidence

and followed by the hosts of the Trigartas,

set out to do battle with Arjuna.

Bent on capturing Yudhishthira,

Drona turned to the front of the array

where he sought to hold back Dhrishtadyumna,

advancing at the head of a vast force.

Drupada’s son aimed to divide and conquer.

Drona tried to stop him, but repeatedly

the Kauravas were split in three. One part

gravitated toward Kritavarman,

hotly harassed by Yudhishthira;

another coalesced round Jalasandha,

chased by mace-wielding Bhima; while a third,

harried by the brilliant Dhrishtadyumna,

gathered around Drona. Fighting was fierce;

shafts of sunlight struggling through clouds of dust

made seeing difficult, but showers of arrows,

loosed with no special target, found a mark

in man and beast alike.

Dhrishtadyumna

urged his charioteer, “Quickly! Approach

Drona, that boastful warrior, that great teacher,

that brahmin traitor to his natural calling!”

Then the two accomplished fighters clashed.

It was a spectacle—all around them

other fighting stopped, so men could watch

the consummate display of archery,

the two well matched, making little headway

against each other. Then Drishtadyumna

rashly leapt up onto Drona’s chariot,

poised on the backs of his rust-red horses

to fight him hand to hand. It was a feat

to remember. But Drona knocked away

his sword, wounding him in many places

and, if Satyaki had not rescued him,

and himself taken on the fight with Drona,

it could have been the end for Dhrishtadyumna.

Satyaki and Drona fought like gods—

fiercely, but with finesse and self-possession.

The sky grew overcast as clouds of arrows

blotted out the sun, and soon they both

ran with blood. Each hoped for victory,

and other warriors stood around, watching,

gripped by such astounding mastery.

(At heart, Drona, too, applauded Satyaki,

noting that he had learned from Arjuna

skills Drona himself had taught the Pandava.)

Both were masters of celestial weapons,

and each of them could neutralize the other.

Neither won. Eventually, Yudhishthira

called his troops to arms, and general battle

was resumed.