THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (28 page)

Don’t lose heart so easily, not after what you have suffered. I am here with you, Satyaki and Dhrishtadyumna are here and a thousand others.” Krishna lowers his voice and his eyes shine in the lamplight in that tent. “Besides, it was written long before you dreamt of this war that Shikhandi shall kill Bheeshma; what is written in the stars must come to pass. Yet, your Pitama is too great a kshatriya to die on the first day of battle. He has killed thousands and he will kill thousands more. Then he will die and I promise you victory shall be yours. This is war, cousin and possibly the greatest war ever. There is a price to be paid for victory and you must be prepared to pay it.”

Krishna speaks so gently and gravely that Yudhishtira is somewhat pacified. The Pandava goes back to his tent, to sleep a few hours if he can, before another bloody morning. As he lies on his bed, around him he can hear an uneven sea of murmuring from his sleeping army: where nightmares of the brutal day stalk his men. Once or twice, some young soldier, whose first war this was, cries out in his sleep.

ELEVEN
THE SECOND DAY: TWO KRAUNCHAS 

The second morning of the war and Yudhishtira decides to form his legions in the vyuha called the krauncha, after the crane. Drupada and his aksauhini are the vyuha’s head, Kuntibhoja and the king of the Chedis are its eyes, Satyaki and his men its throat. At the krauncha’s tail is Yudhishtira himself, at its wings Bheema and Dhrishtadyumna, with their legions. The other Pandavas are between these two, with the sons of Draupadi.

The sun is still low in the sky, when, from across the field, Duryodhana sees the enemy’s vyuha. A frown on his face, the Kaurava comes to his Acharyas, Drona and Kripa. “My lords, Yudhishtira has brought out more men than he did yesterday.”

Just then, Bheeshma joins them, after his morning ablutions and worship. Smiling to see the vyuha across Kurukshetra, the patriarch says, “Let one krauncha bird fly against another.”

He begins to form his troops in the same vyuha, mirroring the Pandava phalanx. He sets Bhooris-ravas and Shalya at the left wing and Somadatta and the king of Kamboja at the right. Aswatthama, Kripa and Kritavarman he sends to the bird’s tail, while Duryodhana and his brothers are between its wings and Bheeshma himself is at the krauncha’s beak.

Deep conches boom, drumrolls rise and fall and rise again and the armies fly at each other. Blood leaps under the sun and flows in spate on Kurukshetra. In a brief infernal hour, the field is strewn with the corpses of countless men and their beasts. The anguished cries of the dying, especially their screams for a sip of water before life left their bodies, mingle with the roars of those who killed them. Wheeling in the sky above Kurukshetra and crowding the trees around that field like death’s sentinels, are crows, kites and vultures, eager for the rich pickings. And in the undergrowth all around, not daring to steal in yet, but slavering in anticipation of a feast, other scavengers slink: hyenas, wild dogs, wolves and jackals, packs of them, astounded by this war.

Bheeshma is even more terrible this morning than on the first day and it seems the Kaurava bird will win the second day, as well. As his Pitama mows through the enemy lines, Duryodhana’s laughter and his shouts of glee echo above every other sound. His chariot flitting everywhere, Bheeshma gives battle to Bheema, Abhimanyu, Satyaki, the Kekayas, Virata and Dhrishtadyumna, all together, even as he cuts down another thousand footsoldiers, his every arrow deadly.

Some way off, Arjuna watches his grandsire in absorption, admiringly. He says to Krishna, “We must ride against Pitama, or the war will be lost today.”

Krishna whirls the chariot round to where the Kuru patriarch straddles the field. Now Arjuna is ablaze; the arrows from his Gandiva are a crystal storm. Bheeshma has to pause his slaughter to face the third Pandava. In all the Kaurava army only Bheeshma, Drona and Karna can stand against Arjuna in battle and he sweeps at Duryodhana’s legions like a forest-fire with the wind behind it. The Pandava’s archery is uncanny and his sarathy’s maneuvers in the chariot of the white horses, are unearthly.

They are an army by themselves, the Pandava warrior and his dark charioteer. The gandharva horses’ hooves hardly touch the ground and that chariot seems to divide itself in a hundred rathas and to be everywhere on Kurukshetra at once. Even Bheeshma’s valor pales when Arjuna takes the field. The Pandava’s arrows of light, every one a killer, spring like a river in his hands, like the Ganga risen in flood to make the earth pure again.

Arjuna takes Bheeshma’s breath away and the patriarch is driven back. Duryodhana cries in dismay, “Acharya! To the Pitama, fly!”

Drona flashes to Bheeshma’s side, where no other warrior can remain because of Arjuna’s arrow-storm, enveloping Kurukshetra in its own darkness, killing hundreds, while Krishna’s laughter rings above the screams of the dying. Through that tide, Drona hews a path for himself. Behind him ride Jayadratha and Duryodhana: to relieve the beleaguered Bheeshma. At first, it seems that it makes no difference to Arjuna if he fights one kshatriya or three. Vikarna plunges forward in the path Drona clears.

But not four fine archers make any impression on the Pandava. He only grows fiercer and Krishna’s chariotry more incredible than before. The Pandava’s ratha is an evanescent target the Kau-rava bowmen can hardly aim at. The white horses seem made more of the stuff of time and dreams, than flesh and blood: they are everywhere and nowhere, at once. But the tide of arrows from the Gandiva is real enough and soon Drona and Bheeshma are bleeding, while their own shafts find no mark on their brilliant adversary.

Holding the Kaurava archers at bay all around him, Arjuna kills thousands of their soldiers. Then, Satyaki flies up to Arjuna’s side and with him come Virata, Dhrishtadyumna, Abhimanyu and the sons of Draupadi, who engage Drona so he must turn away from Arjuna. The advance of the Pandava force is more determined than ever, Duryodhana’s army is beaten back; numberless soldiers die and for the first time, the Kaurava feels a stab of fear.

He flashes up to Bheeshma and cries, “Pitama! Arjuna kills a hundred men every moment. Yet, Drona and you fight him like a favored son. I wish Karna had been here! You insisted he should not fight and now you hardly raise your bow against Arjuna.”

Bheeshma roars in sorrow, “Aaah! I am cursed to be born a kshatriya!”

He raises his conch and blows a desperate blast on it. He cries at his sarathy, “Ride at Arjuna, fly at my grandchild!”

Across the field, Krishna sees the Kuru Pitama hurtling toward him and, with a blast of his own on the Panchajanya, flicks his whip at his horses and dashes forward to meet Bheeshma’s charge. Both chariots yoked to white steeds, it is such a sight to see them sweep at each other.

The Earth and the Devas gathered invisibly in the sky hold their breath when Bheeshma and Arjuna duel. They fight as they never have before. Their bows seem to have lives of their own and the arrows from them are the notes of an eerie song. Time stands still and so do the other kshatriyas around the peerless two.

Neither gives an inch; neither can quell the other, they are so perfectly matched. Yet, there is one difference between them: Krishna in Arjuna’s chariot. All else being equal, the Dark One’s time-like maneuvers drain Bheeshma, threatening to tilt the duel Arjuna’s way. Suddenly Bheeshma looses a Brahmastra at Krishna, taking him squarely in the chest, so he slumps over his reins.

In a flash, Arjuna kills Bheeshma’s sarathy with an arrow through his throat that affixes him to his seat. Bheeshma has to take the reins himself and they fight on. Krishna, whom no astra can harm, clenches his teeth and draws out Bheeshma’s shaft, dripping blood. The deep wound heals instantly! The Dark One takes up his reins again and Bheeshma cannot drive his horses and fight Arjuna at once. He rides off the field to fetch another sarathy.

Lusty cheering breaks out among Yudhishtira’s legions and, renewed in the courage that even Bheeshma can be put to flight, they swarm forward to have revenge on the Kauravas for the previous day’s massacre. Duryodhana’s eyes blaze, he roars; but he is helpless to check the Pandava onslaught.

Across the field, away to the left of where Bheeshma and Arjuna fought, another duel rages between two old antagonists. Drupada and Drona fight wildly. Here, too, the rest of the battle pauses around them; their soldiers stand gaping.

However, this is no exhibition, but war. Seeing his father absorbed in the nuances of archery, instead of fighting to kill his enemy, Dhrishtadyumna rides to help Drupada. Drona greets him with a lance of fire, a gash of lightning. Bheema sees Dhrishtadyumna reel under Drona’s assault and flies at his Acharya from a flank, drawing his fire. Duryodhana sees Drona fighting alone against three men and cries to the king of Kalinga to help him. Kalinga arrives with his son beside him and seeing them Virata rides to Drupada’s side. Drupada and Virata battle Drona, while Dhrishtadyumna, the Senapati, has already wheeled away to bolster his legions elsewhere.

Kalinga, his son Sakradeva and Ketuman attack Bheema from three sides. But Bheema roused is like a bull-elephant in season. His very roars are unnerving and he fights like a force of nature. Sakradeva makes the fatal mistake of lowering his bow for a moment. From an impossible angle and from behind his back, Bheema strikes Sakradeva through his face with an arrow, killing him at once.

Blood leaping in his eyes, Kalinga rushes at Bheema with Bhanuman at his side. Bheema casts a mace at Bhanuman with his left hand, smashing his head and he falls with a sigh, his brains spilling out. Duryodhana cries out to Satya and Satyadeva that they must protect Kalinga. Bheema, having tasted kshatriya’s blood, is exuberant. His roars ring across the field and when he is not sorely pressed for a few moments, he kills a hundred common Kaurava soldiers. He is in his element! Here, at last, is the revenge for which he had waited thirteen years. Bheema is dreadful, he is inexorable; he is a hot wave of death.

The enemy can neither stand against him nor flee. Satya and Satyadeva barely begin fighting Bheema before he kills them both, almost at once; one with an arrow through his eye and the other’s head he strikes off with an axe. Next moment, he finds Kalinga with a humming shaft and that king falls in his chariot, struck through his heart. Bheema’s roars echo in the noonday sun and brave men’s limbs turn weak.

Seeing their king die, the Kalinga army rushes at the Pandava, a thousand men. Shikhandi flies to Bheema’s side with a part of Drupada’s legion. Bheema slaughters a hundred soldiers in delight, but the enemy’s numbers begin to tell even on him. From across the field, Dhrishtadyumna sees the son of the wind surrounded and, blowing a blast on his sankha, dashes up to help his friend. None of the Pandavas is as dear to Dhrishtadyumna as Bheema is and none of the Yadavas as Satyaki. Some way off, Satyaki hears Dhrishtadyumna’s conch and in a moment, he too is at Bheema’s side. The three fight, back to back and wreak havoc on the Kalinga army. They crush the enemy as if they were, indeed, columns of ants.

Away to the left, Bheeshma hears the screams of those who faced that trio and plunges at Bheema. A pure kshatriya now, on fire, the Kuru Pitama casts a javelin charged with an astra at his grandson. For the long moment of the missile’s flight, battle freezes around the Pandava. Burning with power, the lance flashes straight at Bheema’s chest. Bheema is so busy butchering Kalinga’s soldiers, he has not seen it. At the last shred of an instant, Dhrishtadyumna yells, “Bheema!”

Turning his head, the Pandava sees the spear flying at him and leaps right out of his chariot! The lance whistles by. In rage, Satyaki kills the new sarathy Bheeshma has brought into battle; and, once more, the patriarch has to leave the field. Seeing Bheeshma sent off, what remains of the Kalinga army turns tail. Satyaki rides up to Bheema and cries, “Vayuputra! How many kshatriyas have you killed today? Kalinga, Ketuman, Sakradeva, Bhanuman, Satya and Satyadeva too! Bheema, you by yourself are enough to finish this enemy.”

Glowing, they embrace before climbing back into their chariots for more hunting. The sun has climbed past his zenith and begins his descent in the sky, when Aswatthama rides to check the bloody progress of Drupada’s sons. Drona and Kripa ride with him. A pitched battle breaks out, a thing of beauty and terror.

Duryodhana’s son Lakshmana challenges Abhimanyu. The war unfolds all around in shifting tides: Yama Deva’s dark nritya. Duryodhana sees his son pressed hard by the wizardly Abhimanyu and goes to his rescue. Duryodhana’s royal guard rides with him and Abhimanyu is surrounded by enemy chariots. He is as magnificent as his father and gives them a breathtaking fight.

Meanwhile, Bheeshma has returned to the field and, with Drona at his side, he faces Arjuna again. It is quickly plain that not his Pitama and Acharya together can contain this Pandava. Arjuna’s archery is of another order, a supernatural thing. Soon, Bheeshma cries to Drona, “I can’t hold him! The sun is sinking, we must withdraw.”

Bheeshma blows his conch, giving the signal for the day’s battle to stop. Both armies withdraw and set about the grisly task of gathering the dead and burning them beside the river.

Tonight, the mood in Yudhishtira’s camp is in some contrast to the previous night’s. There can be no doubt: this day belongs to the Pandavas. Bheema is the day’s hero; no one else has killed as many great Kaurava warriors as he has. Satyaki and Dhrishtadyumna cannot praise him enough, as they sit around the blue-gold flames of a campfire. Then, Yudhishtira says, “Our fortunes turned when Arjuna beat Bheeshma back. Or, who knows if we would all be sitting here now?”