Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (56 page)

“I still cannot grasp,” said Dhritarashtra,

“how we could fail against the Pandavas

when our forces are so well prepared,

so numerous. What can it be but fate?”

“Perhaps,” said Sanjaya, “our forces know

the cause they are supporting is unrighteous.

The kings who make up Duryodhana’s army

are his vassals—they are obliged to fight.

Perhaps the allies of the Pandavas

are fighting from conviction, confident

that their cause is just.”

“How can we know?”

said the blind king. “Destiny plays with us;

it will always have the final word.

“But tell me, Sanjaya, what happened next?”

Sanjaya went on:

“Arjuna,” said Krishna, “you have triumphed!

No other warrior in all the three worlds

could have done what you have done today,

alone and unsupported.”

“Beloved Krishna,”

Arjuna replied, “this vow of mine

has only been fulfilled by virtue of

your skill, your power, above all, your wisdom.

This victory is yours.” Krishna smiled.

He cast his eyes over the battlefield.

He saw brave kshatriyas by the thousand

lying dead or dying, some at peace,

some clutching at the earth like a loved woman.

He saw their muddied banners; their bright jewels,

collars of gold and ornaments, adorning them

even now. In this sea of carnage

it was still possible to notice beauty.

It was for this these men had lived—for glory,

a hero’s heaven. For their place in legend.

Yet how many would have their story told

in poetry or song? How many of them

would have a hero’s stone raised in their honor;

how many be expunged, obliterated

from Earth’s memory, as though they had not lived?

Arjuna and Krishna brought the good news

of Jayadratha’s death to Yudhishthira,

who wept tears of joy. “By good fortune

our enemies flounder in a sea of grief!”

And, recognizing Krishna’s divine aspect,

he gave thanks to him as the eternal Lord,

as well as the Pandavas’ most cherished friend.

Bhima and Satyaki arrived; Yudhishthira

joyfully embraced them and praised their courage.

It was a splendid moment—catastrophe

decisively, heroically averted.

The sun had set. But the savage battle

continued, so fired up were the two sides

with hostility toward each other.

Arjuna, glorious in his diadem,

energized by success, fiercely fought

the attacking Kauravas, and put to flight

his old teacher Kripa, and Ashvatthaman.

Those of your sons who were still alive

skirmished with Satyaki, but the Vrishni hero

did not kill them, though he smashed their chariots.

He left them to be finished off by Bhima.

Wolf-belly had complained to Arjuna

of how Karna had insulted him,

treating him like a child, not a worthy foe.

Going up to Karna, Arjuna

spoke scornfully. “Driver’s son, you should know

that Bhima could have killed you easily

but held back so I can fulfill my vow

and slaughter you myself. Your empty boasts

and sinful insults will be avenged by me;

Duryodhana will weep over your body.

Further, there’s your part in the shameful murder

of Abhimanyu. For that, I swear to you,

I will kill your own son, Vrishasena,

before your eyes!” Karna walked away.

In Duryodhana’s camp the mood was somber.

The thwarted Kaurava wept bitter tears

for the devastation of his army

and the death of Jayadratha. As he wept,

he remembered how he had believed Karna

when he proclaimed he could kill the Pandavas.

Because he longed for that, because he wanted

to believe in his friend’s martial greatness,

he had refused to yield. Yet now he saw:

with Krishna, Arjuna was invincible;

Karna was not.

Heaving deep sighs, the prince

went to Drona and poured out his sorrow.

“Master, no one can protect my army.

Jayadratha is dead despite our efforts;

so many allies who trusted me are dead

and it is my fault. My greed and anger

have brought this about. Even a hundred

horse sacrifices could not wipe out my sin.

I cannot annul my debt to my dead friends—

it is for me alone that men have died

who otherwise would be enjoying their lives

in tranquillity. I should find a hole

and bury myself in it! Failing that,

the only way I can have peace of mind

is to destroy the Pandavas and their allies

or myself be killed, and join my friends.

Yes, I shall lose . . . and that is not surprising

when the great Drona, chief of the whole army,

deals gently with the Pandavas—Arjuna

is your disciple and you favor him.

That’s it—you have decided that we will lose

and are bringing it about by skillful means!

And we took you for a friend! It seems

that only Karna wants victory for me.”

Drona was desolate. “Oh, Duryodhana,

you know better! Was it not you who failed

to protect the luckless Jayadratha

despite celestial armor? I always told you

that Arjuna will never be defeated.

Even so, I have done my best for you.

This tragedy began in the gaming hall—

Shakuni threw the dice to favor you,

but now it seems as if those dice were arrows

sent speeding down the years for your destruction.

Vidura warned you of it at the time.

“Both the armies are geared up to fight

throughout the night. Prepare yourself for that.

Look—the Pandavas and the Panchalas

are rushing toward me, thirsting for my death.

I vow that I shall not remove my armor

until I have wiped out the Panchalas

or died trying. Tell my son, Ashvatthaman,

to live in righteousness, as I have taught him.”

With that, Drona drove off into battle.

Duryodhana went to Karna for comfort.

“Drona is siding with the Pandavas.

If he had fought for us wholeheartedly,

Jayadratha would be living now.”

“Drona is doing his very best,” said Karna,

“but he is old, and Arjuna is outstanding.

We ourselves failed to protect the Sindhu king.

In my view, it is fate that governs things.

All our plans to harm the Pandavas

have failed, one by one, baffled by time.

Destiny never sleeps; we can’t evade it.

All we can do is summon all our courage

and fight with resolution, following dharma.”

As night fell, the Pandavas advanced;

the Kauravas stormed out to meet them, fired

by a burning thirst for retribution—

elephant divisions against elephants,

foot soldiers clashing with their counterparts.

Soon it was too dark to see—only

men calling out their names made it possible

for the two sides to know friend from enemy;

quite soon, the general uproar prevented

even that. Chaos and carnage followed.

Men lashed out wildly, horses stampeded,

nocturnal scavengers were on the prowl.

Then blazing flambeaux, fixed to chariots,

illumined scenes resembling hell itself.

“Tell me what happened next,” said Dhritarashtra.

“Which well-armed warriors fought against each other?”

“Many were the duels that took place

in that infernal night,” said Sanjaya.

“Suffice it to tell you that, before the sun

cast cruel light on the fifteenth day of war,

valiant Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s son,

huge as a hill, loved by all who knew him,

of supernatural strength and bravery,

clever conjuror of occult illusions,

was killed by Karna. This is how it happened:”

In the general battle, Ghatotkacha’s son

was killed by Ashvatthaman. Enraged by this,

Ghatotkacha, with other rakshasas,

set on Ashvatthaman, who invoked

celestial weapons, of which he is a master,

and wounded Ghatotkacha, rendering him

unconscious. Dhrishtadyumna gathered him up

and had him placed on another chariot.

Meanwhile Yudhishthira, like one inspired,

fought off yet another attempt by Drona

to capture him. The Pandava troops, heartened,

pressed hard on the Kauravas, pushing them back.

Duryodhana appealed to Karna. “Friend,

you must save our troops—they are surrounded

by hostile forces.” Karna reassured him:

“Arjuna is the linchpin of the Pandavas.

I plan to kill him with the fatal spear

I obtained from Indra—I am saving it

for him. All the other Pandavas

and their allies will collapse without him.

When I turn them into porcupines

with my onslaught of arrows—I shall give you

the entire earth and everything that’s on it.”

Kripa, overhearing, ridiculed him.

“If words were weapons, Karna, Duryodhana

would have in you a wonderful protector!

But words are what give brahmins their distinction;

kshatriyas become heroes by force of arms,

not by building chariots in the air!

The fact is, driver’s son, you have never fought

the Pandavas and beaten them. Your boasting

is like the roaring of dry thunderclouds.

Your roars will soon stop when you meet Arjuna.”

Karna met this provocation calmly.

“True heroes always roar like clouds in autumn

and, like a seed dropped on the earth, in season