THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (31 page)

Bheeshma and Bheema meet, but the Pandava has little taste for the fight with his Pitama. Bheema prefers fighting from the ground, with his mace, to the subtle skills of archery. He veers away soon enough, as Arjuna arrives to face his grandsire and earth and sky are lit up with a treat of astras. Weapons that could quell an army extinguish one another. Bheeshma and Arjuna are finely matched and they are the heart of the war. Neither gives an inch; each absorbs the other.

Today, more than ever, Duryodhana is determined that he will reverse the tide of the war in his favor. All night he has sat plotting nothing else. He rides to Drona’s side before the Acharya begins to fight. “Acharya, I depend on you to turn this war around. Pitama and you could conquer the Devas if you wanted; these Pandavas are not your equals at all.”

Drona replies, “They are invincible and nothing you say can change that. The Pitama and I and all of us, will do our dharma by you. But we can never win this war.”

He doesn’t pause to hear what Duryodhana begins to say, but flies at the enemy. Drona, Bheeshma and Shalya battle against Bheema, Satyaki, Abhimanyu and Drupada’s sons. For the first time, Shikhandi dodges past the protective ring around Bheeshma and engages the Kuru patriarch in frenzy. Seeing Bheeshma in mortal danger, Drona skims up to challenge Shikhandi, as Bheeshma slips away.

Seeing this, Arjuna confronts his grandsire. The other Pandavas are not far behind him. They, too, now use the Kaurava tactic of singling out the most threatening kshatriya and trying to overwhelm him all together. Bheeshma is pleased that Bheema is among those he faces: at least, he can keep the Vayuputra away from Dhritarashtra’s sons.

The sun climbs to his zenith and blazes down on the war, searing the dead and the living. Once more, the field is slippery with blood, awkward with the corpses of men, horses, elephants and broken chariots. Maneuvering through these, Krishna flies at Bheeshma. The Kaurava footsoldiers flee from that chariot. They would be anywhere but in Arjuna’s path. At once, the other Kaurava warriors rally to Bheeshma’s side.

And now, another king flashes at the Kuru Pitama from a flank; Virata strikes Bheeshma with a shimmer of arrows with golden wings. Eyes crimson, Bheeshma turns on that kshatriya and covers him in a sheet-rain of silver shafts. Aswatthama fights Arjuna, with Drona watching in some pride: his son and the disciple dear to him as a son. The encounter is even, but Arjuna is too fond of Aswat-thama to enjoy the duel. As soon as he can, he cries to Krishna to turn away.

They see Bheema and Duryodhana fighting and pass on. Now Bheema fights from a chariot, with a bow and arrows. Bheema strikes his cousin deep in his side. Duryodhana battles on as if he did not notice the wound. Arjuna seeks Bheeshma out once more. As he goes, he sees a kshatriya who has killed more Kaurava soldiers than any other Pandava warrior today: brilliant Abhimanyu in his chariot, blowing through the enemy.

Duryodhana’s son, Lakshmana, dashes forward to check Abhimanyu. Briefly, he holds up Arjuna’s son. Not for long and Abhimanyu strikes Lakshmana with a long silver arrow and he staggers in his chariot. Acharya Kripa snatches the Kaurava prince into his own ratha and rushes him out of battle, before Abhimanyu can kill him.

On this fifth day, Satyaki fights like Arjuna himself. It is easy to see the Yadava is the Pandava’s sishya; he has the same smoothness to his archery, the same effortless artistry. An old enemy rides up to confront him: Bhoorisravas, who has come late to the battle today. He is fresh, while Satyaki has already been on the field for some hours and slowly, but surely, he dominates the Yadava. Bheema sees Bhoorisravas pierce his shoulder with an arrow like light and Satyaki cry out and stumble in his chariot. Bheema flashes up, beating Bhoorisravas back with a fury of arrows. He pulls Satyaki into his own chariot and rides off with him.

Meanwhile, from Krishna’s chariot, Arjuna kills another thousand men, until Bheeshma storms up again to stop him. For an hour, the two duel and by now the sun is low in the west. Bheeshma looks around him and sees the common soldiers and even the kshatriyas of both armies haggard. He raises his hand for the conches to sound. Gathering their dead to burn, the armies withdraw gratefully for the night. The day’s honors have been shared more equally. Between them, Arjuna, Abhimanyu and Satyaki have made sure that more Kaurava soldiers have died than Pandava; but Drona, Kripa, Bheeshma and Aswatthama have done their share of killing.

Perhaps because he is tired after five days of war, this evening Arjuna is silent and pensive. No doubt remains in his heart that he must fight and as well as he can; he still hates this war and Duryo-dhana for having caused it.

The evening meal, by firelight, is somber in both camps. The faces of those who have survived to fight on seem older not by five days, but years. Young boys have deep lines around their eyes. They have seen friends and brothers die and tasted blood by sword and arrow for the first time. Some have their hair turn grey, in these days long as lives. The war they fight is truly in death’s realm as much as in life and they are so young they can hardly distinguish between the two. There is no more singing or dancing, chat or laughter left in them. Most sit silent, staring into the flames while images of the day’s killing sway before their eyes.

On the sixth morning, Dhrishtadyumna and Arjuna are out on the field before Bheeshma. They form their legions in the vyuha the Kauravas had used to advantage the previous day: the makara. Bheeshma deploys his forces in the krauncha vyuha he used on the first morning of the war, the only day that belonged to him so far.

Refreshed by a night’s sleep, the armies charge each other. It is as if, despite themselves, they are eager for battle, for its violent magnificence, as if nothing but war can satisfy their spirits any more. All their pasts are like dreams now, unreal; the only reality is this gruesome contention; nothing matters any more except kill or be killed.

Bheema and Drona meet head on and the Pandava slays his guru’s sarathy. Drona, the master, takes the reins in his own hands and fights on. Today, it is the Pandava army on which both he and Bheeshma vent their ire. If any of the Pandavas challenges them, they veer away from the encounter and cut short the lives of a hundred common soldiers instead.

Just as these two kill thousands of Yudhishtira’s men, the Pandavas and their sons decimate the Kaurava legions.

Suddenly, Bheema feels left behind by the others. With a roar, he seizes up his mace and leaps down from his ratha. He fights again as he does best; he is at the dazed Kauravas like a freak storm of his father. He smashes down horses, men and elephants unlucky enough to come in his way. He runs blindly into the Kaurava vyuha, roaring like ten tigers. No one dares stand in his dreadful way; they fly from him in every direction. On and on he plunges, deep into the heart of the Kaurava army, where he no longer has to wait for the enemy to come to him, but is surrounded by men he can kill. His mace a blur, he is soon drenched in blood again.

Bheema rushes into the Kaurava army like a storm cloud into a clear sky. A hundred kshatriyas attack him together, those that dare. Arrows pierce his back, chest and sides. He hardly notices the pain, only plucking them out if they came in the way of his swinging his mace freely.

Meanwhile, Dhrishtadyumna, ranging the field, comes upon Bheema’s chariot empty of its warrior. The Pandava’s sarathy, Visoka, sits gazing anxiously toward the enemy lines.

“Where is Bheema?” cries Dhrishtadyumna, his heart in his mouth.

Visoka replies, “He leapt out of my chariot and ran toward the enemy. I saw him kill a hundred men. He did not turn back, but ran on into the Kaurava ranks. He vanished from my sight and I did not heard him roar any more. I fear for him.”

Dhrishtadyumna lashes his horses at Duryodhana’s legions, cleaving their ranks with death. Ahead of him, he sees there is already a path to follow: the crimson one Bheema has made with his mace, littered with dead men, their blood still leaking on to the earth. Then Dhrishtadyumna hears a commotion, screams and roars. He sees Bheema at the very heart of the Kaurava army, surrounded by the enemy, covered in blood and having the time of his life!

Bheema, on foot, faces a hundred adversaries. He fights on, roaring above the screams of men whose heads and limbs he smashes. Dhrishtadyumna rides to Bheema’s side, crying out his name, arrows flaring before his golden chariot. The Kauravas that dared stand against Bheema flee at the Panchala’s advent.

Duryodhana roars, “Stand and fight! Stand and fight you cowards! There are only two of them.”

But they are like two thousand. Duryodhana roars to his brothers and they stream forward, fifty royal kshatriyas. They have decided there is little point running from Bheema, he would hunt them down wherever they ran. Rather, they would do their best to kill him: to avenge their dead brothers, or to die themselves, trying. Dhrishtadyumna cries, “Quick Bheema! Into my chariot.”

When Bheema staggers in, the Panchala’s charioteer rides away briefly, so Dhrishtadyumna can draw out some of the arrows stuck thickly as quills in his friend’s body. Bheema cries impatiently, “We’ll look at the wounds later. This is the time for war. At them, sarathy!”

Roaring like two prides of lions, they fly at the Kauravas again. They fight side by side, Bheema’s mace the thunder and lightning and Dhrishtadyumna’s arrows the killing rain. Fifty kshatriyas, all taught by Drona, face the two; and the odds are overwhelming. Suddenly, Dhrishtadyumna shoots an astra called Pramoha at Duryodhana’s brothers. It is a weapon of sleep and covers them in a mantle of slumber. The Kauravas swoon in their chariots. Bheema is about to leap down and finish Dhri-tarashtra’s sons, when, from across the field, another astra spumes up in a burst of silver and falls on the unconscious Kauravas, a shower of stardust. At once, they wake up and raise their weapons again.

Duryodhana rages for reinforcements and a thousand Kaurava soldiers from other parts of the field surround Bheema and Dhrishtadyumna. Yudhishtira has word that the two are fighting alone in the thick of the Kaurava army and he sends Abhimanyu at the head of a Pandava legion to them. Formed in a sleek vyuha called the soochi, the needle, Abhimanyu’s troops arrive, every man a maharathika.

Dhrishtadyumna peels away from that encounter, to face Drona who rides at him from a flank and behind. The Acharya comes quick as light, his arrows a web of magic before him. In a wink, Drona kills Dhrishtadyumna’s horses and shatters his chariot. Luckily, Abhimanyu sees the danger he is in and thrusts his horses between Drona and the Pandava Senapati. Dhrishtadyumna leaps into Abhimanyu’s chariot and fights on.

Meanwhile, Bheema’s sarathy Visoka takes courage in both hands and follows Abhimanyu into the Kaurava army. When Drona smashes Dhrishtadyumna’s chariot, Visoka is at hand. Bheema climbs back into his own chariot and, wrath undimmed, flies at Dhritarashtra’s sons again.

Abhimanyu and Vikarna fight, a hundred shafts flaring from their bows every moment; no one can tell which the finer archer is. Seeing Bheema attack his brothers again and them shrinking from him, Duryodhana arrives to challenge his cousin. At once, his eyes shining, Bheema turns on the Kaurava, focusing his rage on his old enemy. Like two bull-elephants, they battle, but in a while Bheema begins to prevail. He beats Duryodhana back, then, strikes him down in his chariot with a clutch of fire-shafts, so his cousin faints again. With a cry, Bheema leaps down to finish it all, when Jayadratha rides up quick as a wish and spirits away the unconscious Kaurava.

A lion that has its prey saved by a jackal, Bheema charges Jayadratha. Kripa rides up and takes charge of Duryodhana, going off with him, while Jayadratha turns to face a roaring Bheema. A hundred Kaurava soldiers converge to save Jayadratha and the fighting becomes diffuse again. The sun is on the western rim of the world, once more and the day darkens quickly. Bheeshma and Dhrish-tadyumna give the signal for battle to end. Deep conches blow from behind the fighting lines and the killing stops.

Twilight falls on the field of dharma and slowly, the dead are gathered in heaps beside the blood-red Saraswati and set ablaze. Once more, the day belongs to the Pandavas: twice as many of Duryodhana’s men have died as Yudhishtira’s. Tonight, in the Pandava camp, Bheema and Dhrish-tadyumna are the heroes; between them, they have killed twenty thousand men, perhaps more. Tonight, there is music and celebration again among Yudhishtira’s soldiers. They have cause to be jubilant: except for the very first one, all the other days of the war have belonged to them.

Later that night, a distraught Duryodhana seeks Bheeshma in his tent. For a long time, he sits staring mutely into his grandsire’s eyes. Finally, he says, “Pitama, if you don’t put your heart into the war, we will lose. You saw what Bheema and Dhrishtadyumna did to us today. But you will not kill the sons of Pandu, neither you, nor Acharya Drona; and I know that the two of you can finish the five of them. If you stay your hands in love, how will we ever win this war?”

Bheeshma is silent for a moment. Then, he says gravely, “I told you before the war began that I would never kill Pandu’s sons. But I do kill thousands of their men every day. If their army is razed how will they stand against us by themselves? But you underestimated them and those who fight for them; especially when they fight for the truth.”

Then, Bheeshma sees the cloths that bind the wounds Bheema gave Duryodhana and at once, his old eyes are moist. He rises and fetches a crystal vial from a recess of the tent. He gives it to Duryodhana, “Drink this, my child, it will take away the pain of your wounds. Then go and sleep. You must be fresh for the battle tomorrow.”