Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (55 page)

It is time, after all, that will decide.”

Sanjaya continued:

Bhima began to make his way to where

Arjuna and Krishna could be found.

But Karna followed him. Breathing hot sighs,

keen to avenge the dead Kaurava princes,

keen, too, to prove his worth to Duryodhana,

Karna shot a cloud of golden arrows

radiating in a shining blur

like the sun itself. So many were there

it was as if they sprang not just from his bow

but from all round his chariot. The arrows,

beautifully fletched with peacock feathers,

were like a flight of the most lovely birds.

And he himself was radiant: tall, handsome,

crowned with a chaplet of blue lotuses.

Bhima, remembering his former wrongs,

eagerly responded. A roaring tempest,

he scattered the discouraged Kauravas

like fragile leaves sent flying in the wind.

Soon his arrows were drinking Karna’s blood,

and thirty-one of your sons, O majesty,

died in that fracas.

Now Duryodhana

remembered how wise Vidura, his uncle,

had warned him that events in the gaming hall,

the insults suffered by the Pandavas,

would bear bitter fruit. But this recall

did not set him on a saner path

though, even now, he could have stopped the war

by acting rightly.

Bhima roared with joy,

gladdening the heart of Yudhishthira

as he launched his troops against Drona

some way off. Bhima’s duel with Karna

became a spectacle, with celestial beings—

rishis, siddhas and gandharvas—applauding

and showering the combatants with petals.

Bhima, though full of rage, knew that Arjuna

had Karna marked out as his own opponent,

so aimed to hurt, rather than to kill him.

Finally, Bhima’s weapons were used up.

Karna harried him and struck him senseless.

Recovering, he seized what came to hand—

chariot wheels, elephants’ severed limbs—

and flung them at his opponent.

“You’re a child!”

jeered Karna, “What do you think you’re doing?

Children don’t belong on the battlefield.

Go to the woods! Gather fruits for your dinner.”

and he touched Bhima lightly on the chest

with his bow-end. Bhima laughed scornfully.

“Haven’t I always got the better of you,

you wicked bastard?” And he turned away.

“Satyaki is approaching,” said Krishna.

“Yudhishthira must have ordered him

to join you; as he comes, he is dispatching

Kauravas by the hundred. Satyaki,

your friend and disciple, is truly great.”

Arjuna was not pleased. “My instructions

were to guard Yudhishthira. Now Drona,

like a circling hawk, will swoop on him.

“And look—you can see Satyaki’s in trouble:

he is tired, his weapons all but spent,

and now he is being attacked by Bhurishravas,

that formidable fighter! This is too much!

Yudhishthira was wrong to send him here.

Now I have to worry about him

and
about Yudhishthira,
and
somehow

slaughter Jayadratha before sunset!”

Bhurishravas, strong and menacing,

advanced on Satyaki. “Today, my friend,

prepare to die. The wives of all those heroes

whom you have killed will rejoice, I promise you.”

“Save your breath,” scoffed Satyaki. “Stop boasting,

you bag of wind!” With that, they launched themselves

with great energy, wounding each other

with showers of arrows, so that their blood flowed.

They ended up on foot, circling each other

with naked swords, grasping their bull-hide shields.

They roared and grunted like two elephants,

sometimes thrusting, sometimes head-butting,

rolling on the ground, wrestling, no holds barred.

Bhurishravas looked likely to be victor

since Satyaki, who had never known defeat,

was exhausted and was lacking weapons.

Sooner than see Satyaki broken now,

Arjuna chose a razor-headed arrow

and sliced off the arm of Bhurishravas,

the sword still in its hand. The warrior

cried to him in wrath. “Oh, Arjuna,

this is a sinful act, cruel and heartless—

I was not fighting you. Were you not taught

the rules of righteous conduct? Shame on you!

You have been keeping sinful company;

no doubt that’s why you’ve left the path of virtue.”

“Self-defense is not a sin,” said Arjuna,

“and Satyaki is like a part of me—

my dear disciple and my honored kinsman.

You had your sword poised to cut his throat—

it would have been a sin just to stand by.”

Bhurishravas, now useless as a warrior,

vowed to die by fasting unto death,

and sat meditating upon mantras,

senses withdrawn, in great tranquillity.

But Satyaki still wanted to dispatch him,

remembering the pain he had inflicted

in killing Satyaki’s beloved sons

earlier in the war. He raised his sword

and, with one blow, beheaded his enemy.

“Alas! Shame! Shame!” cried the Kauravas.

Satyaki snapped back, “What’s your complaint?

This man has been killed in the press of battle.

Wicked Kauravas! Where was your sense of shame

when you set upon an unprotected boy

like a pack of slavering hyenas?

Where was
shame
then? I see you do not answer!

“I have it on reputable authority

that men should always act to accomplish that

which gives the most grief to their enemies—

even women were killed in the old days.

In killing this man, I acted lawfully.”

No one there applauded him, however,

neither Kaurava nor Pandava.

Time moved relentlessly, marked by the sun

indifferently sailing through the heavens,

dropping westward. No earthly thing would make it

slow its course, however high the stake,

even if Arjuna should lose his life

for want of a few extra, dawdling, minutes.

The Pandava was desperate. “Speed on!

Speed on the horses, Krishna, outstrip the sun!

Make my vow true!”

Duryodhana was tense;

the Pandava chariot was approaching fast.

“Karna, take up arms against Arjuna.

Look at the sun! We only have to stop him

briefly and the world will belong to us.

Without him, the Pandavas are finished.”

Karna, in great pain from his fight with Bhima,

said, “Fate will decide, but I will do my best.”

For this last-ditch defense, the Kauravas

mobilized their most accomplished fighters:

Ashvatthaman, Kripa, Duhshasana,

Karna and his son Vrishasena,

Shalya the Madra king, Duryodhana . . .

But even as they grouped themselves for battle

in a cordon around the Sindhu king,

and as the sun was throwing streaks of flame

across the sky, Arjuna was already

laying waste to the Kaurava defense.

Then followed the most fierce and bitter fighting

of the whole war so far. Great Arjuna,

whose thoughts were never far from Abhimanyu,

massacred by the men before him now,

fought like a god. A hundred of his arrows

pierced Karna, bathing him in blood. Karna

in return pelted him with arrows;

Arjuna cut them all off in mid-flight,

then sent a special shaft—which Ashvatthaman

intercepted, knocking it to earth.

Arjuna killed Karna’s four fine horses

and his charioteer. Ashvatthaman

hauled Karna up onto his own chariot

and the fight continued, others weighing in.

Such was the damage dealt by Arjuna

that the Kaurava troops began to falter

as they stumbled over the mangled bodies

of their comrades, who formed a jumbled mound

at least three deep. Strewn with dead elephants,

with horses missing heads or hooves, with men

whose wounds were like gaping mouths, gouting blood,

some moving still, some screaming and pleading,

the scene was a truly horrifying hell.

The chariot was mud-caked and obstructed

but Krishna, with preternatural skill, managed

to steer a course nearer, ever nearer

to Jayadratha. Suddenly it was clear

that between the Sindhu king and death

stood only a handful of exhausted troops,

defeated and disorganized.

But look!

Only the barest sliver of the sun

could still be seen above the Asta hill

and Jayadratha himself, fresh and rested,

fought Arjuna, with everything to gain.

To and fro went the advantage. Kaurava

warriors rallied now to Jayadratha

and surrounded him. “Arjuna,” said Krishna,

“I will resort to yoga to make it seem

as if the sun has set. Do not yourself

be deceived. Thinking he’s safe, Jayadratha

will relax his guard—and you can finish him.”

The sky grew dusky. The Kauravas sent up

a cheer of relief, and dropped their vigilance.

“Arjuna!” cried Krishna, “Now is the moment!

But be careful. The Sindhu king carries

a dangerous protection. Whoever causes

his severed head to fall upon the ground,

that person’s own head will disintegrate

into a hundred pieces. The time has come

for you to invoke the marvelous
Pashupata
.”

Arjuna, with the mantras he had learned,

aimed
Pashupata
at Jayadratha.

His head flew off and, carried by the weapon,

traveled to where the Sindhu king’s old father

was sitting in profound meditation.

Down fell Jayadratha’s head, landing

in the lap of his own father. Oblivious,

old Sindhu did not notice and, when he rose,

it fell onto the ground, and his own head

exploded in a cloud of fragments.

“Shame!”

cried the outraged Kauravas. “What wickedness!

Arjuna has flown in the face of dharma

and killed the Sindhu king when day was over.”

“The dust got in your eyes, that’s all,” said Krishna.

“Rub them and look again—it’s not yet sunset.”

And now, gazing at the western sky,

everyone could see the crimson segment.

It was still only late afternoon.