THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (29 page)

Arjuna murmurs, “My strength is my sarathy.”

Krishna’s eyes shine in the firelight; at least, tonight there is no talk from Yudhishtira about abandoning the war and going back to the jungle.

Across the Saraswati, the mood is one of dejection; there is no singing, no dancing or feasting. Duryodhana huddles in his tent with Karna, Dusasana and Shakuni. They hardly say a word to each other; there are no illusions about who has won the day.

TWELVE
THE THIRD DAY: THE EAGLE AND THE CRESCENT 

Bheeshma is up before the sun the next morning, the third day of the war. He, too, has lain awake, thinking how best to confront the Pandava army after its triumph on the second day. Bheeshma gathers his commanders and says, “Yesterday, we made the mistake ofusing the same vyuha as the Panda-vas. It seems Dhrishtadyumna is a master of the krauncha and they scattered us as they pleased. Today, we will use a garuda vyuha.”

So, Bheeshma himself is the eagle’s beak, Drona and Kritavarman are its eyes. Just behind them, Aswatthama and Kripa are its head, the Trigartas and Jayadratha are the bird’s neck, Duryodhana is its heart, with his brothers around him and Vinda and Anuvinda, the Avantis. The king of Kosala, Brihadbala, is the garuda’s tail.

Across the field, as first light of day spills over the armies, Arjuna and Dhrishtadyumna watch Bheeshma deploying his legions. Arjuna says, “The garuda vyuha. The krauncha was lucky for us yesterday, but the eagle hunts the little bird.”

Dhrishtadyumna thinks just a moment, before he says, “Against the garuda always use the chan-drakala!” He smiles, “At least, that is what Acharya Drona used to say.”

Bheema positions himself at the very tip of the crescent, on the right, where it is slenderest. Coming into the vyuha, Drupada and Virata with their armies are its curving length, their soldiers and chariots thickest toward the heart of the vyuha, like the moon at the end of its first quarter. At the crux of the crescent is Yudhishtira, with his army of elephants. Again, to the thinning left, are Satyaki and Draupadi’s five sons, then Abhimanyu and his stepbrother Iravan, the naga princess Ulupi’s son.

Another warrior has arrived in Kurukshetra in the night, summoned by his father with just a thought. He is a magical being, a rakshasa: beyond Iravan, is Ghatotkacha, a legion by himself. Past Ghatotkacha are the Kekayas; and, finally, at the left tip of the crescent is Arjuna, blue Krishna his sarathy.

Soon, the Senapatis face each across the field and sea-conches echo around them. Bheeshma and Dhrishtadyumna raise their arms high and bring them down dramatically for the fighting to begin. The two forces plunge at each other, raising clouds of dust. Today Jayadratha, Drona, Purumitra, Vikarna and Shakuni encircle Bheeshma in protection. On the other side, facing them, is Bheema, with Satyaki, Ghatotkacha and Draupadi’s five sons around him.

Bheema’s son by Hidimbi looms ominously on Kurukshetra. The Kaurava army shrinks from Ghatotkacha. The first hour of battle belongs to the young rakshasa. He is a fell wind that blows everywhere and there is no escaping him. He kills a thousand Kaurava soldiers, with weapons, with his bare hands. Then, from a flank, Duryodhana himself marshals a hundred chariots and rides at Ghatotkacha, at least to contain him. To kill him will be hard, since arrows do not pierce his skin and great strokes of sword and axe glance off him.

Meanwhile, Bheeshma fights to have revenge for the rout of the previous day. He reaps the Pandava soldiers as if they are a field of ripe corn before him. Krishna takes his chariot to face Bheeshma and another intense duel begins between Arjuna and the patriarch. Today Arjuna finds it hard to match his grandsire and he cannot stop Bheeshma from killing hundreds of men around him even as they fight.

Elsewhere, Abhimanyu and Satyaki encounter Shakuni and his legion. Here, too, Shakuni fights more with deceit than courage. Yet, he is also a formidable archer, who can always make an enemy think he is less of a bowman than he truly is. Shakuni smashes Satyaki’s chariot and kills his horses when the Yadava’s back is turned. It is not the noble way, but definitely Shakuni’s; and this is war. Cursing, Satyaki leaps into Abhimanyu’s chariot and fights on.

At his age, Bheeshma finds Arjuna’s archery more than he can bear for long. He soon finds the Pandava absorbs him so he cannot raze the enemy army around him. Bheeshma swerves his chariot from the duel and rides away to challenge the advance of Yudhishtira’s elephant legion, which crushes a hundred Kaurava soldiers every moment. Nakula and Sahadeva fight at Yudhishtira’s side and Bheeshma does not find this contention much easier than the one against Arjuna.

Away to the left, Ghatotkacha has all but destroyed Duryodhana’s force of a hundred chariots. They lie broken everywhere, horses in pools of blood, warriors and charioteers with their heads struck off, or arrows stuck deep in their chests, dead and dying, as if they had the mischance to cross the path of an armed typhoon. Ghatotkacha, his roars chilling, still pulls Duryodhana’s soldiers from their chariots and wrenches their heads from their necks with his hands. When he chooses, he towers over the rest of the field like a small hill, or flies through the air, wingless, to fall on another hapless foe.

When Duryodhana confronts a tiring Ghatotkacha and overwhelms him with a rage of astras, Bheema storms up to take his cousin unawares. The mace he hurls strikes Duryodhana on the side of his head, felling him in his chariot. At once, the Kaurava’s sarathy rides out of battle, while Bheema’s triumphant roars rock Kurukshetra.

Drona and Bheeshma have to ride, themselves, to quell Bheema and his rakshasa son. Satyaki flashes to Bheema’s side and the battle turns the Pandava’s way again. Bheema kills hundreds, roaring so dreadfully that his enemies stand petrified before him. Duryodhana recovers from his swoon, flies back into battle, to find Bheema desiccating his army.

Duryodhana rides to his grandsire and cries, “Pitama! Our army shrinks every moment, when Bheeshma commands it, when Drona and Aswatthama fight for me. It is your love for the sons of Pandu; none of you fights as you would if the enemy were someone else. Pitama, if you won’t fight as you can, let Karna take your place as my Senapati.”

Duryodhana is panting; his eyes are full of anger. Bheeshma laughs in his face. “My poor child, your envy blinds you to the truth. For so many years, we have told you that Pandu’s sons are invincible. They are Devaputras; they fight with the strength of their fathers. How can mere mortals stand against them? But this was the only way you would be convinced. As for loving you, aren’t we fighting on your side, Drona, Aswatthama and I, that you say we don’t love you? I am an old man, but watch me take fire to the enemy!”

The ancient warrior charges the Pandava army. He is like an elephant prodded by his mahout and this is just what Duryodhana intends. Pandava soldiers flee, screaming that Yama Deva, the God Death, had come to hunt on Kurukshetra. Not Bheema or Arjuna is half as fearsome as Bheeshma is now. Arrows flare from his bow, endlessly and they see him in the north and the east, the west and the south, as he lets a froth of blood.

Krishna says grimly to Arjuna, “You swore you would kill Bheeshma, Drona and the rest. The time has come to keep your word. Whenever you face Bheeshma, you seem to remember only that he is your grandfather. Look how he tears through our lines, don’t the screams of our men move you? Haven’t they come to fight for your honor, that you let Bheeshma slaughter them? Our army melts before him like snow at the sun’s touch.”

His face taut, Arjuna says, “Take me to him, Krishna.”

Krishna points his horses at Bheeshma’s chariot. As they flash forward, Arjuna cuts the patriarch’s banner from over his head. Bheeshma roars in delight, “Arjuna, there is no archer like you on earth! Come, let us fight.”

Hearing his Pitama’s voice, Arjuna grows soft at once. While Bheeshma’s arrows are flames, the Pandava seems content just to defend himself, cutting down his grandsire’s searing volleys, but hardly attacking the old lion himself. Bheeshma kills a hundred footsoldiers around them, while Arjuna does little to stop him. Again, Krishna is wounded and Arjuna himself. Bhoorisravas, Drona, Vikarna and Jayadratha rush to Bheeshma’s side and push Arjuna back so ferociosuly it seems they will have his life. Satyaki flies to Arjuna’s side and so does Yudhishtira’s legion. They are certain Bheeshma will kill Arjuna, who still hardly resists his Pitama.

Suddenly, Krishna throws back his head and gives a roar that shakes the earth, the roar of an angry God! Every soldier pauses at that sound. Krishna cries, “Satyaki, watch me kill Bheeshma! It seems the sarathy must take a hand in the fighting, for his kshatriya has no stomach for battle. I swore that Yudhishtira will be crowned lord of the earth. I swore that Draupadi will have revenge. But how will they, if Arjuna fights like this? Satyaki, watch me burn the sinners!”

In a moment, Krishna is Narayana the Destroyer on the field of death. Darkness falls on Kurukshetra and the only light upon it is the light from the Blue God’s body. He is so bright and awesome, that all the fighting freezes in a wink; the men stand rooted in terror of him. The Sudarshana Chakra a wheel of flames in his hand, raised above his head, Krishna leaps down from his chariot and strides toward Bheeshma’s chariot. It seems his body is made of blue fire, so blinding they cannot look at him; and his eyes are cold and wild as stars. The Chakra shines like the primordial lotus that sprouted from Vihsnu’s navel.

Seeing Krishna like that the wise men on Kurukshetra think the end of the world has arrived. They stand praying. But Bheeshma is not perturbed; he bows his head to the God coming to kill him. A smile on his lips, he says calmly, “Devadeva, I beg you, kill me with your own hands. For what greater glory can I hope? Knower of hearts, you know how I loathe my life and long for death. I beseech you, kill me, give me my freedom!”

Solemnly, Bheeshma raises his bow to fight. Arjuna leaps down from his chariot and is at Krishna’s side in a flash. The Pandava clutches the Avatara’s hand with the Chakra blazing over it. Krishna hardly sees his warrior; he is blind with rage. Wailing, Arjuna falls at the Dark One’s feet and clasps them.

“No!” cries the Pandava. “You mustn’t be so angry. You must not do this thing. Krishna, I will fight, I swear I will fight as you want me to. On the head of my Abhimanyu, I swear I will fight as I have never fought before. Let it be my Pitama or my Guru: I will fight to kill them! My Lord, you must keep your oath. What will the world come to if you break your sacred word?”

Krishna still stands with the Chakra at his finger. Arjuna cries again, “I swear I will fight, Krishna!”

For a long moment, the Blue God stares at Arjuna. Then, he lowers his arm and the Sudarshana vanishes. His body does not burn, any more and the night of dread over Kurukshetra lifts away. Light breaks on the hushed armies. Krishna lays his hands on Arjuna’s shoulders and raises him up. He says, “I believe you, Arjuna. Come, let us ride.”

Hand in hand, they run back to the waiting chariot. Krishna lifts the Panchajanya and blows a mighty note on it. Arjuna follows with an echoing peal on the Devadatta and the quarters shake with that twin sound. Frustrated, that death at the hands of the Avatara has eluded him, Bheeshma flies at them like a comet spewing flames.

Now, Arjuna stands forth in his chariot like the kshatriya he truly is; and not a shaft can the Kuru patriarch spare for any soldier but him. Arjuna’s archery presses Bheeshma back; a hundred Kaurava soldiers fall, each moment and the Pandava legions surge forward yelling Arjuna’s name.

A delighted Krishna drives his horses forward, as if he means to finish the war in an evening. Spurred by his sarathy, Arjuna invokes an astra called the aindra, his father’s missile and shoots it at the Kaurava host. A flash like a star exploding flares through Duryodhana’s army and five thousand men fall. With a cry, Bheeshma turns to Drona and Baahlika.

“Sound the retreat!” cries the Kuru Senapati, as the sun sinks in the west, the hue of blood.

Conches announce an end to the day’s fighting. The Panchajanya rings above all the others, as a radiant Krishna turns his white horses back to the Pandava camp, with a tired but triumphant Arjuna, who seems to have finally mastered his worst enemy: himself.

Across the Saraswati, Duryodhana sits in his tent, in a black silence. Fear seizes him and no amount of wine can stop the shaking that breaks out over his body. This is the second day the army of Hastinapura has been routed. For the first time, the unthinkable thought enters Duryodhana’s heart: had his elders perhaps been right? Would he lose the war? Were the Pandavas invincible? For the first time, he had seen Arjuna fight as he had today. Can anyone kill Indra’s son?

Duryodhana is terrified lest the answer is no.

THIRTEEN
THE FOURTH DAY: BHEEMA AND HIS SON 

Dawn of the fourth day of the war of Kurukshetra. Conches sound to begin the fighting and the two hosts rush at each other, roaring like two jungles full of wild beasts. Death’s release snatched from him yesterday, when Arjuna stopped Krishna from killing him, Bheeshma is grimmer than ever. With Drona beside him, he rides at the van of the army of Hastinapura. Krishna steers his chariot to face the patriarch: only Arjuna can contain his Pitama today.

True to his word, Arjuna fights as a man transformed. The last reserve within him gone, he fights as if he no longer knew whom he fought, or no longer cared. He brings Bheeshma up with such a salvo that it would have cut the old man in half had Drona not intervened with a shield of arrows. Seeing Arjuna godlike, Kripa, Shalya, Vivimsati, Somadatta and Duryodhana fly to Bheeshma’s side. The Panadava holds them all up. Then, it seems a second Arjuna appears on Kurukshetra; arrow for arrow the newcomer matches Arjuna, forcing the enemy back: it is Abhimanyu, as resistless as his father.