THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (32 page)

When Duryodhana has drunk the potion, warm languor steals over him, soothes the throbbing agony in his body. Bheeshma sees Duryodhana as a child before him, once more and he tenderly embraces the prince, his old heart breaking yet again. He sends the Kaurava away and lies on his bed, numb, watching the moon climb into the sky outside. His eyes hardly notice Soma Deva’s silvery splendor.

FIFTEEN
THE SEVENTH DAY: MANY DUELS 

Bheeshma deploys his troops in a circular galaxy on the seventh morning of the war, the mandala vyuha. Dhrishtadyumna and Arjuna form a vajra vyuha. Both formations maneuver quickly and are almost impregnable. The din of conches rises and the armies fly at each other.

At a spinning perimeter of the mandala vyuha, Drona faces Virata and Drupada. Aswatthama faces Shikhandi; Duryodhana comes up against Dhrishtadyumna; Nakula and Sahadeva, their uncle Shalya. Vinda and Anuvinda confront Arjuna. Bheema faces Kritavarman, Abhimanyu holds up Chitrasena, Vikarna and Dusasana at once. Ghatotkacha and Bhagadatta meet again, like two thunder-heads. The rakshasa Alambusa, whom Satyaki wounded two days ago, returns to battle, healed by his own occult powers and faces the Yadava once more. Bhoorisravas fights hand to hand with Dhrishta-ketu; Srutayas duels Yudhishtira, while, next to them, Chekitana faces Kripa.

Today seems destined more for fervid duels than general battle. Arjuna says to his dark sarathy, “The Pitama thinks his soldiers will be safe inside his mandala. Look, Krishna, the Trigartas are spoiling for a fight and they shall not live to see the sun set. Ride at them, my Lord, it is time the earth was lighter by their burden.”

Krishna sets his horses at the Trigartas, nestling in a whorl of the mandala vyuha. Arjuna pulls on the Gandiva’s string and the ground shakes. The Pandava looses an aindrastra at the enemy. The missile flares up into the sky above the Kaurava legions and hangs there, a gleaming jewel. From it, thousands of arrows fall in a bright torrent on Duryodhana’s men. As they run for their lives, Bheeshma’s careful vyuha is broken in slivers.

Susharma has to flee. Duryodhana’s roar rings across Kurukshetra. But a kshatriya in a silver chariot yoked to white steeds, his hair like mane behind him, pale as his horses, rides to challenge Arjuna. It is Bheeshma and the Pandava soldiers run every way from him. Arjuna stands his ground and meets Bheeshma’s charge with a scorching salvo.

Duryodhana yells, “Susharma, ride with me! We must watch the Pitama’s flanks.”

He thunders after his grandsire and Susharma after him. The duel between Bheeshma and Arjuna lights up the field with coruscating astras that lock on high and then die away in cascades of sparks. Both warriors’ bodies shine uncannily with the power of the weapons they invoke and one cannot look at them for long. All round Kurukshetra the fighting stops. Every soldier gazes in awe at the duel between Bheeshma and Arjuna; they have never seen anything like it before.

Both fight from a protective enclave of kshatriyas, so they cannot be surprised from a flank or from behind. Then, Drona, not content to be a spectator, attacks Virata with a roar. Today that king is prepared for the Acharya. Swifter than Drona expects, Virata breaks the brahmana’s bow in his hands, cuts down his banner and kills his sarathy. Drona seizes up another bow and dispatches Virata’s sarathy with a light-like shaft.

Virata’s son, Sankha, rides up at once and takes his father into his ratha. The two then fight Drona together; while the Kuru Acharya drives his own chariot and holds them off with a stream of fire. Drona finds young Sankha a formidable adversary and looses an astra like a meteor at the boy. The shaft takes the prince in his chest, cuts through his armor like butter and breaks into his heart. Sankha dies without a sound, his blood splattering his father.

This is the third son he has lost to the war. With a howl, Virata leaps out of the chariot and runs away. Drona fights on, in icy calm, killing a hundred men every moment. Aswatthama and Shikhandi fight across the field: evenly matched and brilliant. Shikhandi strikes Aswatthama with three arrows, in swift succession. Crying aloud in pain, Aswatthama cuts Shikhandi’s sarathy’s head from his neck with a wedge-tipped arrow and kills his horses with shafts through their eyes.

Undaunted, Shikhandi leaps down and, sword in hand, rushes at Aswatthama. Aswatthama covers him in fire, but Druapada’s son whirls his blade round and strikes down every shaft. He is a hawk fighting in the sky, the whirling sword his wings. Just then, Satyaki rides up. Shikhandi flings his sword at Aswatthama, a streak of light, climbs into Satyaki’s chariot and flashes away.

Alambusa arrives to face Satyaki. They fight and the rakshasa uses maya, making himself invisible to confound his enemy. The Yadava pierces him with a subtle astra, which lights up the forest-devil’s body so he cannot vanish anymore. Alambusa flies up into the sky and lashes the Vrishni with a storm of arrows. Satyaki shoots an aindrastra at him and it pursues the rakshasa, blasting a score of livid barbs at him every moment. Alambusa flees and Satyaki kills a hundred Kaurava soldiers to celebrate.

Duryodhana seeks out Dhrishtadyumna again. Dhrishtadyumna smashes Duryodhana’s chariot-wheels, but Duryodhana leaps down to the ground and battles on. Shakuni rides up and gives his nephew his chariot; but Dhrishtadyumna is the quicker archer and soon, fearing for his life, the Kau-rava turns away. Not far from the fire-prince, Satyaki still razes Hastinapura’s legions.

Kritavarman faces Bheema coming into battle. Bheema does not roar today; his silence is exceptional, quite deafening. But he fights as powerfully as ever and in moments he has slaughtered Krita-varman’s horses and cut down his banner. Flying past the Yadava in his chariot, Bheema fetches him a blow with his mace and Kritavarman collapses with a scream, feeling every bone in his body is broken. Luckily, Shakuni is at hand to save him from Bheema. Now Bheema lets out a full-throated roar, his first of the day. He leaps down from his chariot and, like a hurricane, sets on the elephants of the Kaurava army.

As the sea does the Ganga, the Pandava army quells the Kaurava legions. Not that Duryodhana’s warriors fight tamely. No, they are ferocious, they are inspired; but they are small match for Yudhishtira’s men. Inexorably, the army of Hastinapura dwindles, as if its soldiers have just one ambition on Kurukshetra: to die and find the swarga meant for those killed in battle.

In a chariot glowing like the morning sun, Ghatotkacha accosts Bhagadatta mounted on his white elephant. The lord of Pragjyotishapura seems like Indra himself come down to Kurukshetra; and Ghatotkacha cannot match the asura today. Bhagadatta kills his horses. Ghatotkacha casts a glimmering javelin at the demon, but Bhagadatta cuts it in three pieces. Ghatotkacha wisely leaves the field; the asura spurs his pale beast forward and it tramples the Pandava soldiers, gores them dead.

Madri’s brother Shalya battles Nakula and Sahadeva and the uncle is delighted by his nephews’ valor. Even when they wound him shaprly, he shouts encouragement to them. But Shalya does not stay his hand because he is fighting his sister’s sons. He covers them with arrows like silver hail and soon kills Nakula’s sarathy and horses. In a blink, Sahadeva is at his twin’s side and his brother leaps nimbly into his chariot. He sees how violently Shalya shoots at Nakula; Sahadeva casts a heavy lance at his uncle and fells him. Shalya faints and is driven off the field.

High noon and Yudhishtira and Srutayus face each other on the field of the Kurus. The gentle Pandava is a cobra spitting venom! Srutayus is a gifted archer and he strikes Yudhishtira’s armor off his back with a blistering volley. Yudhishtira fights on as if he has not noticed. He kills Srutayus’ horses and sarathy and the Kaurava warrior runs away without ceremony. Yudhishtira wades into the unprotected enemy, killing a hundred men.

Elsewhere Chekitana overwhelms Kripa and the Acharya is carried off the field. Three of Duryodhana’s brothers attack Abhimanyu from different sides, but not together are they a match for Arjuna’s son. He breaks their bows in their hands, kills their horses and charioteers and has them at his mercy. Then, he remembers his uncle Bheema’s oath that he would kill all Dhritarashtra’s sons. Abhimanyu stops himself.

Bheeshma storms to the Kaurava princes’ rescue. Nearby, Arjuna says to Krishna, “The old lion and our young one will absorb each other for a while. Come, Krishna, let us range the field and reduce the size of my cousin’s army.”

A wind sowing death, that chariot blows at the Kaurava forces, while Abhimanyu holds Bheeshma up. Susharma confronts Arjuna once more, with his legion of Trigartas.

They surround the Pandava and fall on him from every side. But it seems Arjuna has a hundred hands and a hundred Gandivas in them. In moments, blood flying everywhere, half Susharma’s men are dead. Stunned by the Pandava’s valor, Susharma retreats and a smiling Krishna turns his chariot to seek out Bheeshma.

Shikhandi rides at Arjuna’s side; in wonderful synchronicity, the other four Pandavas appear there as well and all of them attack Bheeshma. If they can kill him now, the war would be good as won. But Duryodhana, Jayadratha and a score of others force a way to where Bheeshma battles five Pandavas and Shikhandi, at once. They rain arrows on him from every side, but not one strikes him. Like some unearthly dancer, he cuts them all down.

In a moment, Kripa, Shalya, Sala and a mortal Chitrasena are at Bheeshma’s side, drawing the Pandavas’ fire from him. But he has scant need of them; already, he has beaten his grandsons back with some ineffable archery. Bheema, Yudhishtira and Sahadeva have their bows plucked from their hands; Nakula and Arjuna are struck down in their chariots. Yudhishtira turns to Shikhandi and cries in rare fury, “You have sworn to kill him. If you don’t hurry, we will all be dead.”

Shikhandi charges Bheeshma’s chariot; but Duryodhana’s kshatriyas have been warned about the oath of Amba. Shalya plunges between Shikhandi and Bheeshma and a duel ensues. Nearby, Bheema and Jayadratha fight. Each has killed the other’s horses and smashed the other’s chariot. Now they fight on foot, maces ringing together in showers of sparks. Jayadratha is no match for the Pandava. Bheema fells him with a huge stroke and Jayadratha jumps up and runs. Chitrasena rides up to challenge Bheema, but the son of the wind greets him by flinging his mace at him like a thunderbolt. Chi-trasena falls and his sarathy rides off with his unconscious kshatriya.

Bheeshma confronts Yudhishtira, lord of the Pandava army. Intensely they fight, grandsire and grandson, like old enemies, neither giving an inch. It is hard to believe this same Yudhishtira always worshipped his Pitama; it is harder to conceive Bheeshma is his doting grandfather. Bheeshma shatters Yudhishtira’s chariot; Nakula is nearby and Yudhishtira climbs into his brother’s chariot. The twins and he attack Bheeshma together; but he fights not merely like a man a fourth his age: he fights like five Arjunas. As he holds off the three sons of Pandu, he strews Kurukshetra with their soldiers’ corpses.

The Trigartas still surround Arjuna and shoot at him from every side. They draw him away from Bheeshma, fearing that if all the Pandavas combine for long enough against the Pitama, they may well kill him. Arjuna makes them pay dearly, he lets a swash of Trigarta blood. But he cannot stem the death Bheeshma brings to the Pandava legions. Twilight falls suddenly, as if a God above, heartsick of the carnage on Kurukshetra, sent an astra of darkness to stop it. Conches announce the end of the day’s battle. Soldiers across the field put up their arms, blessing kindly fortune that they will live another night, while thousands of their comrades have perished.

Today, there is scant celebration in the Pandava camp. The individual duels have gone their way, on that seventh day; but at least ten thousand more Pandava soldiers have died than Kaurava. Bheeshma has killed most of them. Yudhishtira sits forlorn, while, in the camp across Kurukshetra, Duryodhana is excited as a boy.

He drinks wine, sitting with Karna, Shakuni and Dusasana and predicts, “The worst is over. They have done everything they could and they have found Bheeshma invincible. This lucky seventh day, the course of the war has turned. Now we shall win.”

Shakuni says, “The Pitama is the key to victory. As long as we can keep him safe from Shikhandi, no Pandava, or any kshatriya on earth, can kill Bheeshma. You made no mistake, Duryodhana, when you made him our Senapati.”

Karna’s eyes are like embers, but he says little tonight of all that burns his heart.

Much later that night, across the field of death, when the others are asleep and the moon sinks in the west, one warrior lies awake and an uncanny transformation comes over him. Shikhandi lies in his bed, sleepless. These seven days he has stalked just Bheeshma and whenever he came near the Kuru ancient, another Kaurava had always come between them, even like fate. Shikhandi has hardly shot an arrow at the man he has sworn to kill. Tonight, like every other night, his lean body and his handsome face take on a strange aspect when he is alone.

The spirit of Amba comes over Shikhandi and he feels himself as he was a life ago, when he was she. His skin is hers. His thoughts, his senses, his very body and most of all, his obsession with Bheeshma, are all Amba’s. And how she longs to kill him; but not—after two lives and a death, after all she has endured—with any hatred. Amba yearns to kill Bheeshma to set him free. She has always loved him and she knows, now, how much he suffers; and she knows that he, also, has always loved her.

Amba smiles. Her long wait is almost at an end. Perhaps tomorrow, she tells herself again, she can finally pierce his heart with an arrow.