Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (58 page)

when his chariot wheel will stick in the ground.

Disregarding all the rules of warfare,

you must kill him when I give the sign.

“By means of stratagems like this, I have worked

for your good, and for the good of Earth,

killing Shishupala, Jarasandha,

and Ekalavya—supremely skilled warriors

who would have taken Duryodhana’s side.

The rakshasas must also be removed,

inimical to dharma as they are.

So Hidimba died, Baka, Alambusha . . .

If Karna had not killed Ghatotkacha

I would have had to contrive his death myself.”

Yudhishthira, furious and grief-stricken

at the death of Ghatotkacha, started

to rush at Karna, but island-born Vyasa,

suddenly appearing, stayed his hand:

“If Karna had not used his celestial spear

on Ghatotkacha, it would certainly

have found its mark in Arjuna. In fact,

Ghatotkacha was killed by Death himself,

making Indra’s spear his instrument.

Divest yourself of grief and anger, Pandava;

practice forgiveness with a cheerful heart.

Five days from now, the kingdom will be yours.”

“Tell me, Sanjaya,” said Dhritrashtra,

“why did Karna waste the spear of Indra

on Ghatotkacha? Why did he not hurl it

at Arjuna or Krishna—surely, then,

my son would have gained the victory?

As it is, benighted Duryodhana

is on a direct course for Yama’s realm.”

“That is true,” said Sanjaya. “Each night,

returning from the battle, everyone

urged Karna, ‘Tomorrow, use your spear,

your never-failing weapon, on Arjuna.’

And that had always been Karna’s intention.

Yet, in the event, divine illusion

confused his understanding. It was Krishna

who muddied Karna’s mind, to help Arjuna.”

Sanjaya continued speaking:

Into the very blackest hours of night

fighting continued. Yudhishthira ordered

his best foot soldiers to converge on Drona

together with elephants and cavalry.

The battle was fierce at first, but gradually,

having been in the field throughout the day

and into the night, both armies lost their verve

and were drooping with weariness, staggering

blind with sleep around the field. Arjuna

decided that the Pandava troops should rest

and Drona called a halt for the Kauravas.

Some lay down on the backs of elephants,

some on chariots, but most collapsed

on the bare ground, sleeping like the dead,

or as if they lay upon their lovers’ breasts.

The full moon rose, cool as a white lily,

casting a silver light, dispelling darkness.

Misty at first, its light grew ever brighter

until the field stood out in stark relief.

It woke the troops, who stretched their limbs, yawning,

then made ready to resume the fight.

Duryodhana was tense and discontented.

He spoke to Drona in a peevish tone:

“We should have attacked while they were sleeping

but you were kind to them, and now—you’ll see—

they’ll rise up even stronger. You always act

for their benefit, and not for mine.

With your mastery of celestial weapons

you could finish off their entire army

at a stroke; and yet you favor them.”

Drona grew angry. “It would be ignoble

to use such weapons on the rank and file,

yet even this I am prepared to do

for your sake. But you forget Arjuna.

You forget that, once he is roused to fight,

no one can overcome him.”

“That’s fear talking,”

scoffed Duryodhana. “Karna and I

together with Duhshasana and Shakuni

will kill Arjuna today.”

“Good luck!”

said Drona scornfully. “Only a fool

would talk as you do. But by all means try it!

Fight with the foremost hero of the Pandavas

and die as a virtuous kshatriya.”

Dawn was breaking on the fifteenth day.

The opal sky was reddening in the east

and soon the sun, like a great copper disc,

lifted itself above the far horizon

and cast its image on the nearby river,

the river that reflects experience

in its quiet waters, that witnesses

joys and tragedies, triumphs and horrors,

and keeps them to itself, flowing onward

imperturbably toward the sea.

Sunlight fell on the carnage of the night,

on bodies pitiful in death, their attitudes,

even their faces, strangely similar

as if, already, they had been reduced

to mere substance, meat for scavengers.

Sunlight fell on Karna’s radiant face

while he stood deep in prayer, as every morning.

Now he knew who his true father was

he worshiped him with even more devotion.

Sun fell on the diminished infantry

as each man too, his hands joined together,

made obeisance to the lord of light.

Hungry, thirsty, they rubbed their aching limbs

and grumbled to each other. Yet already

they were looking round for their commanders,

shouldering their weapons, their blood stirring

in anticipation of heroic deeds.

Useless to list each and every duel.

It was as if the war was a kind of dance

where partners changed in endless combinations

and squared up to each other, jeering, wounding,

but often with an inconclusive outcome.

Drona focused on the Panchalas

and killed three of Drupada’s brave grandsons.

Enraged, Drupada, backed by Virata,

unleashed an assault on his old enemy.

With a couple of well-directed arrows,

Drona killed them both. Then Dhrishtadyumna,

shaking with grief and rage, uttered this vow:

“May the merit of all my piety

be lost to me; may I be consigned to hell

if I do not send my father’s murderer

to the realm of Death before this day is out!”

A major battle centered around Drona

with Dhrishtadyumna leading the Pandavas

and Drona reinforced by Duhshasana.

It was a fair fight; no improper means

were used on either side—no poisoned arrows,

or ones with rusty tips, or barbs, or ones

with many-pointed heads, or made of bone,

or arrows that pursued a crooked course,

awkward to extract. Bhima grew angry

at the lack of progress, and he charged

through the enemy lines, making for Drona

although he was protected.

Duryodhana,

seeking to give support to Drona, joined in

and was about to fight with Satyaki

when a sudden memory struck him—childhood,

when he and Satyaki were the dearest friends.

They paused and gazed at one other, smiling.

“A curse on war, my friend,” said Duryodhana,

“a curse on anger, folly, greed, revenge!

We were dear friends once, yet here we are,

aiming our deadly weapons at each other.”

“That was then,” said Satyaki with a laugh.

“We are no longer playing around in school;

we’re warriors now.”

“Where did those times go?”

said Duryodhana, “and how did this war

overtake us? It seems we can’t escape

the web of time.”

“That’s how it’s always been,”

Satyaki said. “We are kshatriyas

and warfare is our way. If I am dear to you

kill me at once, and I shall happily

proceed to the realm where virtuous warriors go.

I do not like to see this tragedy—

friends murdering friends.” Then the Vrishni

launched into an attack on Duryodhana.

The two wounded each other bitterly

yet still they smiled, and still they fought each other.

Karna rushed to support Duryodhana,

but Bhima blocked him.

Then Yudhishthira

urged the Panchalas and the Matsyas

to attack Drona together. They fought hard

but Drona so fiercely staved off their attack

that soon they had to go on the defensive,

struggling against defeat. Arjuna,

who could have pressed his teacher hard, held back

from fighting all-out with him.

“Come, Arjuna,”

said Krishna, “things are serious. What we need

is rather less scruple, much more stratagem.

Drona cannot be overcome in battle

but if his son were dead, then, I think,

he would not fight. Therefore, let someone tell him

that Ashvatthaman has been overcome.”

Neither Yudhishthira nor Arjuna

liked this plan. But Bhima took his mace

and killed a mountainous bull elephant

named Ashvatthaman, with one blow to the head.

“Ashvatthaman has been killed!” he yelled.

Drona heard, and his head swam with the shock.

But then he thought, “This must be a false report.

Ashvatthaman is too skilled a warrior

to be overcome.” And he renewed

his powerful assault on Dhrishtadyumna,

though without success.

He was desperate

to obliterate the Panchalas.

He invoked the
Brahma
weapon, becoming

a whirlwind of destruction, killing thousands

of Panchalas with that celestial astra.

To direct a weapon of mass destruction

at ordinary mortals was unrighteous,

as Drona knew. There appeared before him

a group of rishis from the celestial realm

who censured him. “Drona, you are a brahmin,

well versed in the Vedas, devoted to truth.

It ill becomes you to act so cruelly.

Your time on earth is very nearly over;

lay down your weapons.”

Drona was chastened.

He thought again of the voice he had heard shouting

in triumph: “Ashvatthaman has been killed!”

Knowing Yudhishthira would not speak untruth,

he called to him, “Tell me, is my son no more?”

Krishna spoke quietly to the Pandava:

“Drona is quite capable of destroying

your entire army. To prevent that

you know what you must say. To speak untruth

in order to save lives is not a sin.

Do it, Yudhishthira!” Reluctantly,

but earnest in his longing for victory,

Yudhishthira called back, “Ashvatthaman

[the elephant] is indeed dead!”

Until now,

Yudhishthira’s chariot had always glided

a handsbreadth off the ground. After this deceit

it became earthbound.

Drona was seized

by profound despair. He felt ashamed

of what he had done with the
Brahma
weapon.

Now, he almost lost his mind with grief

at the loss of Ashvatthaman. Dhrishtadyumna,

who had long thirsted after Drona’s life

to avenge the insult to his father,

rushed forward with his blazing bow drawn back

and aimed at Drona. “Yield, wicked brahmin,

I was born to kill you!”

Drona rallied

to resist the Panchala, but his weapons

would not obey him as before. Nonetheless,

he tried. He still had much of the old skill,

and made things difficult for Dhrishtadyumna.

The battle became general. But the Panchala,

with fixed resolve, was dodging around Drona,

sword in hand, now leaping on his chariot shafts,

now darting beneath the horses—a marvelous

sight to see.

Drona was reckless now.

He rushed into the thick of the Pandavas

knowing that he would die, indifferent,

inflicting enormous harm on all around.

And always Dhrishtadyumna followed him,

mounted on Bhima’s chariot. “Quick, my friend,”

said Bhima, “no one but you can kill the teacher.”

Then Bhima, grabbing Drona’s chariot shaft,

said, “Drona, you have abandoned dharma.

Although you are a brahmin, you have pursued

the calling of a kshatriya, for gain,

and for your only son—who now lies dead

somewhere on the field. You should be ashamed.

Because of men like you, kshatriyas

are being exterminated.”

Hearing this,

Drona laid down his bow and other weapons

and, seated on his chariot, composed himself

in yoga, in profound meditation.

As he sat, seemingly still alive,

his soul was liberated from his body

and traveled to the domain of the blessed.

Some men saw his spirit flying upward

like a meteor, merging with the firmament.

Dhrishtadyumna, unaware of this,

took his sword and raised it high in triumph.

Although the Pandavas cried out in horror,

he hauled the seated Drona from his chariot,

grabbed the old man’s hair, cut off his head