THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (47 page)

Arjuna says, ‘Lord, I have come for the Paasupatastra.’

Even as he speaks, Arjuna is startled to see the offerings he made earlier that night to Krishna laid at Siva’s feet! Serene Mahadeva says, ‘My bow and the astra I once loosed at the Tripura lie below the lake of amrita. Seek them out, Arjuna and bring them to me.’

Krishna and Arjuna find themselves flying north again, now with a host of Sivaganas around them. The ganas bring them to the banks of a velvet lake, like a sea before them. They stand on its shore, the dark waters glimmering as far as their eyes see and a spray of nectar flying in their faces. Suddenly, a sibilant hissing fills that place and, with a powerful swirling, the waters part. Two immense serpents, scintillating jewels in their hoods, raise themselves high into the air before Krishna and Arjuna. They are thousand-headed snakes and flames spew from their jaws. Krishna begins to worship Siva aloud with the Maharudriya; Arjuna quickly does the same. At once, the fiery nagas grow quiescent. As the chanting continues, they are transformed into two shining weapons: a golden bow and a silver arrow float out to the two warriors. Kneeling on sands like petal dust, Krishna and Arjuna receive those ayudhas.

With that bow and arrow, Arjuna and Krishna and the Sivaganas with them, fly back to Kailasa. They come to Siva again and offer the weapons to him. He smiles at them and an unearthly light issues from his body. From it, a wild brahmachari stands forth, his eyes fire, his hair falling to his waist in a shimmering blue and black cascade. Bowing to Siva, the apparition picks up the ancient weapons. He shows Arjuna the only way that bow, older than the world, can be strung. He shows him how the arrow is fitted to it and the string is drawn back. Arjuna masters the art of it instantly, as no other archer could.

As he pulls back the bowstring, Arjuna hears Siva’s voice, deep in his mind, intoning the mantra for the Paasupatastra, which begins by invoking Ganapathy, the Lord’s elephant-headed son, master of his host of ganas. The mantra fills every cell in Arjuna’s body. In a moment, he knows it perfectly. Now, the brahmachari takes those weapons back from the Pandava and, with a cry, from where he stands he casts them back into the distant lake. Becoming fierce serpents again, they submerge below dark ripples and are gone. But Arjuna feels the lake and the weapons within himself still; and he knows the astra will return to him, whenever he needs it.

The brahmachari vanishes. Krishna and Arjuna prostrate themselves once more at holy Siva’s feet. As he blesses them, Arjuna sees him again as he did in the forest near Indrakila: as the vetala! All his anxiety swept from him in a wave of joy, Arjuna touches the Lord’s feet and flies back to Kurukshetra with Krishna beside him.

Arjuna emerges from dhyana, but Krishna has vanished from his dream. Other dreams flow into the Pandava’s sleep and bear him away on tranquil currents.

THIRTEEN
THE THREE VYUHAS 

Dawn is yet to break over Kurukshetra and Yudhishtira is the first one up to greet the fourteenth day of war. As always, he begins his morning with worship. When he has finished, the sun appears on the rim of the world and the birds in the trees around the battlefield hymn the brilliant Deva. As Yudh-ishtira rises from his prayers, Krishna walks into his tent.

“Did you sleep well, my Lord?”

Krishna smiles, “I did. And now, seeing your serene face, I know that no harm can befall me!”

With Krishna, come Bheema, Dhrishtadyumna, Satyaki, Shikhandi, Sahadeva, Nakula, Drau-padi’s sons, Chekitana, Dhrishtaketu, the five Kekaya brothers wearing red mail and looking like indragopaka insects, Yuyutsu, Ghatotkacha, Drupada and Virata. One by one, Yudhishtira embraces them all. Those lords of the earth, the soldiers of dharma, are solemn on this momentous fourteenth morning of the war.

Yudhishtira turns again to Krishna. “My Lord, we rely on you to see us through this war, to bring us victory. More than any other day, we depend on your grace today.” He takes the Dark One’s hand, “Arjuna must keep his vow, Krishna. With you as his sarathy, he cannot fail.”

Krishna is full of light, full of faith. He says, “There is no kshatriya in all the world like your brother. When Jayadratha dies, the Kauravas will know that Arjuna’s vows are made not just of words, but arrows. Have you seen the omens of the earth and the sky, of the water, the wind and the birds? They all cry out that you will prevail today and that the Kauravas are doomed. Yudhishtira, I am here with you, I swear Arjuna will keep his oath.”

Arjuna walks in and he seems entirely calm. He touches Yudhishtira’s feet and those of the others older than him. Yudhishtira embraces his brother. “Your face is as bright as Krishna’s, as if the two of you have some secret you are keeping from us. I am content, Arjuna: seeing you like this, I have no doubt that Jayadratha will die before the sun sets. But if there is some good news you have, won’t you share it with us?”

Arjuna recounts last night’s dream, still vivid in his mind. He says, “Siva’s own astra is mine to summon. Jayadratha will not see the sun set today.”

Word goes out about Arjuna’s dream and soon the Pandava camp echoes with the news. Conches and trumpets blare and excited soldiers make for the battlefield, eager for the fighting to begin. No one doubts, any more, that Arjuna will keep his oath. Who will stop him, when Siva himself has blessed the Pandava?

Krishna climbs into Satyaki’s chariot to leave Yudhishtira’s tent; for, they have both come as Yada-vas to the early council. But when they arrive at the stables where the horses are stalled, Krishna is a sarathy again for the day’s battle. The Avatara goes into the enclosure like any charioteer; with his own hands, he rubs down Arjuna’s gandharva horses. He washes them lovingly, then drapes mail over their smooth bodies, while they stand for him in delight, nuzzling their faces against him.

Fortunate indeed is the Pandava who has Vishnu’s Avatara for his sarathy! Krishna places his warrior’s weapons in the chariot, where Arjuna can reach them easily. Finally, he hoists Hanuman’s banner over the gleaming ratha and brings the chariot to his cousin’s tent. A young servant is strapping the golden mail on his master, which Indra gave Arjuna. Krishna comes in, “Your ratha is here, Kshatriya and your sarathy is ready for battle!”

Last of all, Arjuna sets his kirita, worked with unearthly gemstones, on his head, picks up the Gandiva and the two of them emerge. Completely majestic, they mount the white chariot. Krishna takes the reins, while his pale chargers toss their necks and neigh eagerly in anticipation of battle. Regally, they make their way toward the field, the early sun blazing on Hanuman’s banner, the vanara alive on it!

At the front, Arjuna says to Satyaki, “In our excitement, we mustn’t forget Drona has sworn to take Yudhishtira captive. What better opportunity could he have than today? Satyaki, your task to protect Yudhishtira will be no less than mine. You are more than equal to it, my friend; I leave my brother’s life in your hands.”

Satyaki says, “Yudhishtira will be safe as long as there is breath in my body.”

Across Kurukshetra, they see Drona’s chestnut horses flitting here and there, as the brahmana forms the three vyuhas, one behind the other. In the van, facing the Pandava force, is the shakata vyuha, square and solid, the cart phalanx. Behind the shakata, Drona forms a lotus, a padma vyuha, a subtle variation of the chakra in which Abhimanyu died. Like an artist painting, he forms the indrawn petals of the lotus. Near the last of these, like a stem, Drona deploys the Kaurava maharathikas in their chariots: the final and most powerful line of defense. He arrays them straight as a needle, a suchi, one after the other, with the precious Jayadratha at the eye of the needle, which faces away from the field.

With dawn, Jayadratha is full of anxiety again. When he hears the Pandava conches and sees Arjuna ride out to the front and stand, stern and erect in the white chariot, Jayadratha begins to quake.

Drona lays a kindly hand on him, “The three vyuhas are six krosas long, Jayadratha. Six krosas will separate you from the frontlines. A hundred thousand horsemen, sixty thousand chariots, three million foot-soldiers, fourteen thousand elephants and then six maharathikas, each one more powerful than all these together, stand between Arjuna and you. Not even the army of Devaloka could break past such a defense before the sun sets. Your eyes will see Surya Deva rise tomorrow, but not Arjuna’s!”

Jayadratha is hardly consoled. He peers across six krosas and sees only Arjuna. He sees every feature on the Pandava’s face, as if he already stood next to him. Jayadratha is terribly certain that all Drona’s assurances will not keep Arjuna away. Six krosas and hundreds of thousands of fierce kshatriyas separate the Pandava from him; but when he sees Krishna’s dark form at Arjuna’s chariot-head, he knows that not six oceans would be enough.

Today Drona sets himself at the rim of the padma vyuha. Between him and the Pandava army lies the stolid square of the shakata. One of Duryodhana’s bravest brothers, Durmarshana, begs to command this phalanx. Drona lets him meet Arjuna’s first charge. With his legion of bowmen around him, Durmarshana takes his proud place at the head of Duryodhana’s army.

Duryodhana’s brother is certain Arjuna will not pass him. “I won’t let him through. Arrogant Arjuna shall taste Durmarshana’s valor today!”

FOURTEEN
ARJUNA THE MAGNIFICENT 

Arjuna’s armor radiates lances of fear across Kurukshetra. The Gandiva glitters, already piercing Jayadratha’s heart. To that king, hidden behind the teeming Kaurava army, Arjuna seems like the God of death. The Pandava raises the Devadatta and blows a long, echoing blast. The Kaurava frontlines cower at the sound and when Krishna joins a deep note to it on the Panchajanya, Jayadratha whimpers in his chariot.

Conches resound on both sides for the fighting to begin. Arjuna raises his arm high and cries to his sarathy, “Let us burn this shoddy cart. Ride at them, Krishna, the sun waits for no man!”

Krishna flicks his whip over his horses’ sleek necks. Durmarshana roars like five tigers and charges out of his vyuha to meet Arjuna. Their bows streaming, the cousins fly at each other. Durmarshana fights as never before and for a while it seems he will hold Arjuna up. Arrow cuts down arrow in flight, or glances off warriors’ stubborn mail. But the equal contention lasts only a few moments. Suddenly, Arjuna lifts his archery and heads roll off necks in a macabre pageant. When Arjuna fights like this, no one can see where he bends his bow, or draws another arrow from his magic quivers; or where he aims it, true as death. They see just a blur in his chariot. At times, it seems he hardly moves at all; but enemy soldiers fall in waves before him, blood spilling on to the dark earth from their carved limbs and wounds through which their spirits fly out to the invisible hosts waiting above Kurukshetra to take them to other realms. Arjuna dissevers their heads so casually: as if he snipped mallika flowers from their stems, to offer Siva for worship.

The air is a murky opacity of ghosts and screams. Not a sound from the Pandava: save that of his bowstring and the hum of his arrows. When five thousand Kaurava soldiers have died, in moments and Duryodhana’s brother realizes that today Arjuna also fights as never before, Durmarshana bolts and his men go after him. In the time it takes to tell, Arjuna has smashed the first of Drona’s vyuhas: the shakata collapses at his onslaught. And far away, at the eye of the needle he means to thread with a mighty astra today, Jayadratha is near collapse.

As Arjuna’s gandharva horses flash forward, Dusasana appears on his path with a legion of elephants, roaring an arrogant challenge. But to the Pandava, it makes no difference whether it is Dur-marshana or Dusasana, horses or elephants. All that matters is that they come between him and his quarry and he will not let them stand. Grey beasts fall as facilely as men did before them: some shot with a score of wooden shafts all over their hulking bodies, others with just one silver arrow through their hearts. The Gandiva sings, calling the enemy to the ceremony of death.

Mowing through his legion, Arjuna comes face to face with Dusasana himself.

He covers his cousin’s elephant in a mantle of fire. He shreds the weapons in his hands, makes red flowers sprout all over the Kaurava’s body and Dusasana cannot stand Arjuna any longer than his brother Durmarshana did. He, also, turns his beast around and lumbers away quickly. On plunges Arjuna, seeing just Jayadratha before him and all the others merely obstacles to his reaching that king, his target. It was so when he was a boy and Drona’s sishya and so it remains. Drona watches him fly at the padma vyuha and is reminded of the day when he gathered his students under a tree in which he had set a wooden bird and asked each one what he saw. Arjuna saw only the bird’s eye and brought it down. Today, Jayadratha is the wooden bird and the soldiers guarding him just the leaves in the tree. Like an arrow, Arjuna makes for his prey, brushing the leaves aside.

The white chariot storms the rim of the second vyuha and Drona rides up to stop his favorite sishya. Arjuna folds his hands to his master and says, “I have come to avenge my child. Once you said you made no difference between Aswatthama and me and I pray you still feel the same way. Bless me, Acharya and let me into your vyuha.”

Drona raises his bow in reply. With a smile, he cries, “You cannot enter my vyuha without defeating me!”

Though Drona was the main conniver in yesterday’s treachery, Arjuna cannot find it in himself to hate his master. Without rancor, he looses his first volley at his guru and those shafts are deadlier for the detachment with which they are shot. Drona answers with a scorching salvo of his own and a tremendous duel begins.