THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (62 page)

Satyaki cries, “Dare you speak to Arjuna like this! You have done a vile thing before all these noble men, Dhrishtadyumna; and you dare turn on Arjuna? Not only do you kill your master, when he sits in dhyana with no weapon in his hand, you cut his head from his body and fling it down on the ground! How does Bheeshma’s fall compare with Drona’s death? The Pitama asked to be killed, but not Drona. Besides, your brother Shikhandi shot Bheeshma first, not Arjuna. Not another word from you, coward, or I will crush your head!”

Satyaki stands growling, mace in hand. Dhrishtadyumna laughs in the Yadava’s face. He says coolly, “We are fighting this war on the same side and so perhaps I should forgive you, Satyaki. But this is passing strange, that you of all people preach to me! Yadava, was it dharma when you killed Bhoorisravas? Hadn’t he given up the war, didn’t he sit in dhyana? That was such a noble thing you did! After Arjuna cut off his arm and he was helpless, the great Satyaki cut off Bhoorisravas’ head. And you dare accuse me!

Listen to me, Yadava. We are here to fight a dharma yuddha. We are here to put down a tide of evil, which chokes the earth. We are here to crush the Kauravas. At times, fire must be fought with fire. You killed Bhoorisravas when he was helpless; but you had an old feud with him and this is war. So we said nothing to you. In war, particularly, dharma is hard to define and adharma too. The final dharma in war is to prevail over the enemy. All of us are here because we believe the cause of the Pandavas is the cause of truth and that they have been grievously wronged.

Yudhishtira has never told a lie in his life, because he holds truth more sacrosanct than anything. Yet, when he saw how Drona burned our men with devastras, he sacrificed his truth for his soldiers’ lives. You know as well as I that if the Acharya had not been stopped, he would have killed us all and cremated our cause with us. Better than anyone, you know what it is to inherit an old feud. You killed Bhoorisravas because of such a feud. Because of such a feud, Drona killed my father and my sons; and I killed him. But it seems you have one dharma to judge what Arjuna and you do and another to judge me. I cannot kill Arjuna because he is my sister’s husband, but no such bond prevents me from killing you. Come, Yadava, let me see how you crush my head!”

Satyaki needs no encouragement. He runs at Dhrishtadyumna, with his mace raised. Bheema leaps down from his chariot and flings his arms around Satyaki. Even Bheema is dragged along a full five paces, but on the sixth he stops the Yadava, who struggles furiously but is helpless against the iron clasp in which the wind’s son holds him.

Krishna, Arjuna and Sahadeva intervene. Tears in his eyes, Sahadeva cries, “Now we are at each other’s throats. Stop it! I beg you, Satyaki and Dhrishtadyumna, stop this madness. And you two are such friends. Satyaki, you are like Krishna to us and Dhrishtadyumna is as dear as his sister is. Bhoo-risravas and Drona are both dead and we are forgetting we are standing on a field of war! Embrace each other now and forget the harsh things you said.”

Krishna and Yudhishtira add their voices to Sahadeva’s. But it is the arrival of the Kaurava army, led now by Aswatthama, which sobers the Panchala and the Yadava. Together, they turn to face the enemy again.

THIRTY-TWO
NARAYANASTRA 

As they watch the Kaurava army flow at them across Kurukshetra, Yudhishtira turns to Arjuna. In a sad, strained voice he says, “I want a word with you, my brother. You say I am responsible for the death of our guru, who you claim loved us like a father. Yes, I told the lie that made Drona lay down his bow. But as for him loving us like a guru or a father, was it because of his love that he trapped Abhimanyu in the chakra vyuha, where six maharathikas killed our child? Was it love for us that tied his tongue, when Dusasana dragged Panchali into the Kuru sabha? Love that made him swear he would fight for Duryodhana if there was a war? That made him burn our soldiers with his astras and loose the brahmastra at you? And even when he finally laid down his weapons, he cried out a warning to Duryodhana.”

Yudhishtira speaks tensely, with uncommon pique in his voice. “Arjuna, you may still think of Drona as your guru. For me he lost that place in my heart some time ago. A man should have only one guru, who does indeed love him like a son. Krishna is my guru and I have no other. Yes, for the first time in my life I told a lie. I lied at the instance of my guru Krishna. I lied to save the lives of thousands of men who depend on me, who risk their lives for me. Arjuna, I am proud of my lie! I would never have told it, if I was to regret it after I had. That isn’t my nature.”

Arjuna has no answer to this. But now, the Kaurava army is within striking distance and immediately Aswatthama summons the narayanastra and shoots it at the enemy. The earth shakes, the sky seems to catch fire and a malefic star hangs over the Pandava army as an inferno. Towering flames flash down from the astra, ashing legions whole. A hundred thousand arrows whistle down from that ayudha every moment, reaping as many lives. Whining chakras whirl out from its blinding heart and scythe through Yudhishtira’s forces in unimaginable violence. The Pandavas train their own arrows on the dreadful thing; the narayanastra only blazes more fiercely with each shaft they shoot at it. Other weird weapons scream down: tornadoes of flames of a hundred colors.

Yudhishtira panics. “Run, my friends, run! Dhrishtadyumna, take your army and ride home: the war is lost. Satyaki, fly back to Dwaraka! My brothers, run while you still have your lives. I must stay and let the astra kill me. Let that be my penance for killing my Acharya.”

But above the screams of the dying, another voice roars, “The narayanastra grows fiercer when it is resisted. Lay down your weapons and prostrate yourselves before Vishnu’s ayudha. Worship the astra and it will grow mild.”

Krishna’s word flashes across Kurukshetra. In moments, every Pandava soldier has flung his weapons down and lies flat on his face before the apocalypse in the sky. At once, the astra grows quiet, it dims itself at being worshipped. But one kshatriya has not put down his weapons. He stands alone and defiant in his chariot, roaring, “I am no coward to bow to Aswatthama’s astra. I will stand against it, even if no one else ever has!”

Blasting on his conch, Bheema rides at the Kaurava army. Erupting again in wrath, the narayanas-tra turns its fires on Bheema. A thousand fulminant arrows flash down out of the sky on just his chariot. Roaring like a pride of lions, Bheema turns his bow on Aswatthama, by whose will the astra hangs fire. Hardly has he drawn them from his quiver, the power of the astra burns up his shafts in his hands. A rain of fire pours down from the astra. Light-like arrows, keening chakras flame down at the kshatriya who stands alone against Vishnu’s weapon on Kurukshetra. Bheema looks like a mountain covered by fireflies. He stands roaring his defiance, that wild son of Vayu!

The astra sets Bheema’s chariot and horses alight. It engulfs him in a sheet of flames, until he is like a Deva materialized at the heart of a yagna fire. Now there seem to be two uncanny suns risen on Kurukshetra: one the astra above and the other Bheema in his burning chariot. He will not give in. His roars ring louder than ever on the field of dharma. Arjuna jumps up and invokes the varunastra. But when he shoots it at Bheema’s ratha, that weapon, which can drown Kurukshetra in a flash flood, turns to steam.

There is only one way to stop Bheema from killing himself. Krishna and Arjuna leap down from their chariot and run to him. Plunging through white flames, they jump on him. Before Bheema realizes what they are doing, they wrest his weapons from him. He roars louder still. They drag him out of the chariot, fling him down on the ground and themselves beside him. He struggles desperately, but they hold him down on his face.

When the last kshatriya is on the ground, the narayanastra grows mild again. Like a majestic comet, the weapon passes over the supine Pandava army and on out of the world. The air on Kurukshetra is cool again. Healing breezes blow across fate’s field. Still, no soldier rises for fear. Then Krishna is on his feet, crying, “It has passed. You can get up now.”

Bheema staggers up, still furious. Krishna turns on him and says sharply, “Was it to win the war that you were trying to get yourself killed?”

There is something in his eyes and his voice, with which not even Bheema dares argue.

Across Kurukshetra, Duryodhana sees the narayanastra passing and turns eagerly to Aswatthama, “Again, Aswatthama: summon it again! They have no answer to the narayanastra.”

The crestfallen Aswatthama says, “Krishna knew the answer to the narayanastra, or their army would have been ashes by now. No matter: they fell on their faces to beg for their lives. They have acknowledged defeat, which for a kshatriya is worse than death. From now on, they live in shame. I am satisfied.”

Duryodhana growls, “But not I! Call the astra again and this time let it consume them.”

“The narayanastra can be summoned only once. If I call it again, it will consume not the enemy but us.”

“You command so many astras. Summon them all today, Aswatthama! Your father is dead; we depend on you now. Burn the Pandavas, I must see them die.”

Aswatthama charges at the Pandava host. Dhrishtadyumna rides against him first. They fight, without pausing to draw breath. Drona’s frenzied son strikes Dhrishtadyumna with twenty arrows, in a single moment. Dhrishtadyumna faints in his chariot. By the time he recovers, Aswatthama has killed his sarathy and horses.

Luckily for the Panchala, Satyaki rides up just then. The Yadava cuts down Aswatthama’s horses and sarathy, even as Drona’s son flies up to avenge himself on his father’s killer. Duryodhana, Kripa and Karna surround Aswatthama. They have another chariot brought out to the hero of the hour. Like a tiger robbed of his prey, Aswatthama rushes again at Satyaki. Once more, the cool Yadava shoots down his horses and sarathy.

Yet another chariot is fetched for Aswatthama and he rages from it. He calls out with a laugh to Satyaki, “Yadava, I know how much you love the Panchala prince! But today, neither of you will escape me.”

Satyaki is overwhelmed by a cataract of arrows. He has his bow sliced in slivers and it seems Aswat-thama will kill him. Then, five Pandavas ride from five sides to form a ring around their Yadava, as if they guarded their own lives. Yudhishtira and the twins take Satyaki to safety, while Bheema engages Drona’s son. Not for long: Aswatthama kills Bheema’s sarathy with a naracha and the Pandava’s horses career across Kurukshetra.

Now Arjuna roars at his boyhood friend, his master’s son, “I have heard so much about your valor, Aswatthama! I have heard how powerful you are, how wise, how fearless: how you are truly your father’s son. I know how much you love the sons of Dhritarashtra and hate the sons of Pandu. Come now, show me your courage!”

Aswatthama replies with a smoking, thought-like fusillade. They fight as if in another dimension: the son and the finest sishya of the dead Acharya. The rest of the war pauses around them, to gaze. They are so evenly matched and they duel as if to settle which of them is Drona’s best pupil. Aswat-thama has long harbored a secret envy of Arjuna; and, today, with his father slain, he means to prove that he is better than the Pandava.

Drona’s son invokes the agneyastra and shoots it at the Pandava army. In a moment, night falls on Kurukshetra. The weapon of the Fire God flames into the sky and, hanging low, vomits five meteors that immolate five columns of helpless footsoldiers in an eyeflash. Black smoke and the stench of burning flesh envelop the field of death. Plaintive screams ring across Kurukshetra and it seems the battleground has plunged down into the last pit of hell. The son emulates his father’s rage; he defies every law of dharma. Watching from a distance, Duryodhana exults.

At the heart of night, in the thick of fear, Arjuna invokes a brahmastra, which subdues every other astra. It streaks from his bow. Instantly, the murky darkness of the agneyastra evaporates. The air is clear again and cool. An icy gale springs up and sweeps across Kurukshetra, blowing the weapon of fire out of the sky. Around Arjuna’s chariot the charred remains of thousands of his men, almost an aksauhini, bear gruesome witness to the power of Agni; but Arjuna and his dark sarathy are unsinged.

For a long moment, Aswatthama stands trembling at his failure. Then, with a howl, he flings down his bow, leaps from his chariot and dashes madly from the field. Helplessly, Duryodhana and his army watch him go. Like one pursued by demons, Aswatthama dashes across Kurukshetra and plunges into the forest beyond: never turning back, running on and on as if for his life. Tears stream from his eyes and roars of grief and rage issue from his lips. On he runs, not knowing where he runs to, nor caring, only bellowing his despair to the trees, the earth, the astonished beasts.

Abruptly, a dark figure looms in his path. Panting, Aswatthama stops his flight. He flings himself, sobbing, at the feet of the rishi Vyasa. Drona’s son wails, “The astras failed me! Why, Muni, why?
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Vyasa lays a kindly hand on the brahmana warrior’s head. He says, “You summoned them against Nara Narayana, my child. What can any astra do against those two? The fault is not yours, or the weapons’. Krishna and Arjuna have come into the world to cleanse it: what force can stand in the way of their grace? Why, by their grace, your father is in Devaloka now. He is at peace and you have nothing to grieve about. Go back; it isn’t dharma to run from battle. You have come here to risk everything for Duryodhana. You must not abandon him now, when he needs you most.”