novelraw Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 1 - Dhṛṣṭadyumna’s vow
Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 1 - Dhṛṣṭadyumna’s vow
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the tidings spread that the sons of Pāṇḍu had been driven into exile, the clans allied to them in blood and love could not remain unmoved. From Dvārakā came the Bhojas, the Vr̥ṣṇis, and the Andhakas, their hearts heavy with grief. From the land of Pañcāla came Draupadī’s kinsmen; from Cedi, mighty Dhṛṣṭaketu; and from the realm of the Kaikeyas, those renowned and lion-hearted brothers—all burning with indignation.
They journeyed to the great forest where the exiled sons of Pṛthā dwelt, enduring hardship amid towering trees and the murmur of hidden streams. Seeing their cousins and friends thus wronged, they spoke words sharp as arrows against the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra:
"What shall we do?" they asked. "How shall this wrong be answered?"
Then those tigers among Kṣatriyas, with Vāsudeva himself at their head, seated themselves in a circle about Dharma’s son, Yudhiṣṭhira. Bowing with due reverence to that foremost of the Kurus, Keśava—his eyes darkened with sorrow—spoke in a voice edged with wrath:
The earth shall drink the crimson tide
Of Duryodhana’s sinful pride,
Of Karṇa fierce, and Duḥśāsana’s hand,
And wicked Śakuni’s treacherous band.
When these are slain in battle dire,
Their cities seized, their hosts in fire—
Then, O Yudhiṣṭhira, thou shalt reign,
Thy throne restored, thy glory plain.
For the wicked, death is the due decree;
So hath it been, eternally.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Thus spoke Janārdana, his righteous anger rising like a forest fire, as if to consume the very worlds in his fury for the wrongs done to Pṛthā’s sons. Seeing him so inflamed, Dhanañjaya sought to calm that tempest.
Phālguna, desiring to turn Keśava’s mind from wrath to remembrance, began to recount the mighty austerities and divine deeds performed by that eternal one—Vāsudeva, the soul of all things, measureless, infinite in energy, lord of Prajāpati himself, the supreme ruler of worlds, Viṣṇu of unfathomable wisdom.
Arjuna said:
In ages past, O Keśava bright,
Thou roamedst Gandhamādana’s height,
Ten thousand years a Muni there,
Thy dwelling-place the evening air.
On Pushkara’s calm and sacred shore
Thou livedst, Madhu’s slayer, for
Eleven thousand years on naught
But water, by deep penance wrought.
On Badarī’s high hills alone
Thou stoodst, with flesh and muscle gone,
One leg upheld, a hundred years—
Celestial years, beyond man’s spheres—
Sustained by air, thy vow most pure,
In silence stern, thy will secure.
Upon Sarasvatī’s holy side
Thou stoodst, O Kṛṣṇa, sanctified,
Twelve years in sacrifice sublime,
Renouncing garment, form, and time.
At Prabhāsa’s plain thou didst remain,
One leg alone thy steadfast chain,
A thousand years of gods endured,
Thy spirit vast, thy heart assured.
Vyāsa declares—beyond all birth,
Thou art the cause of heaven and earth;
Mover of minds, O Kṣetra’s Lord,
Beginning, end, and time’s own chord.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Thus, in the shade of the forest where the sons of Pṛthā endured their exile, Arjuna spoke, his voice warm with devotion and his eyes bright with remembrance. He recalled before all those assembled the countless deeds, past and divine, of Keśava—the eternal one, the unfailing refuge, the supreme soul who wears the guise of man yet holds within himself the measureless expanse of heaven and earth.
All tapas rests in thee, O unfading flame,
All sacrifice is bound to thy name.
Thou art the eternal, the deathless one,
The source of all, the timeless sun.
Thou slew’st the Asura Naraka, born of Earth,
And bore away the earrings won by thy worth;
Then offered the demon as sacrifice high,
The first aśvamedha beneath the sky.
O bull among worlds, thy triumph complete,
Daityas and Dānavas fell at thy feet;
To Śacī’s lord thou gavest the throne,
Then took birth on earth, by men well-known.
Thou floated first on primal seas,
Then didst become what all men sees:
Hari and Brahmā, Dharma and Sun,
Dhatṛ, and Yama, Rudra in one.
The firmament, earth, the directions ten—
Thou art the Lord of gods and men.
Arjuna’s words flowed on like a sacred river:
“O slayer of Madhu, with boundless might, thou didst gratify, in the forest of Citraratha, the chief of gods with sacrifice beyond compare, gifting gold in hundreds and thousands according to the ordained shares. As the son of Aditi thou wast known, the younger brother of Indra, who, while yet a child, by but three strides filled heaven, sky, and earth.
Covering all with thy vast splendour, thou didst dwell in the body of the sun, dimming his own light by thy glory. A thousand times hast thou descended, and in those incarnations thou didst slay Asuras by the hundred—Mauravas and Pāśas, Nisunda and Naraka—making safe the road to Pragjyotiṣa.
At Jaruthi thou didst fell Ahvṛti; at other fields Kratha and Śiśupāla with his allies; Jarāsandha, Śaivya, and Śatadhanvan all perished by thy hand. On thy car, roaring like the clouds and bright as the sun, thou didst win the daughter of the Bhojas, humbling Rukmi in battle. In thy fury thou didst slay Indradyumna, and the Yavana Kāserumān, and later, O Janārdana, thou destroyed Śālva of the city of Śaubha, casting that fortress into ruin.
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At Irāvatī thou struck down the Bhoja king, equal to Kārtavīrya in might, and Gopati and Tālaketu too were slain by thee. Thou didst claim for thyself the blessed city of Dvārakā, rich and pleasing to the ṛṣis, and at the end of the age thou wilt sink it beneath the ocean’s depths.
O unfaltering one, how can crookedness dwell in thee—thou who art free from anger, envy, untruth, and cruelty? All the ṛṣis, beholding thee in thy glory on the sacrificial ground, seek thy refuge. At the end of the yuga thou drawest all things into thyself; at its dawn, from thy lotus-navel springs Brahmā, the lord of all that moves and all that stands still.
When the fierce Dānavas Madhu and Kaiṭabha sought to slay Brahmā, thy anger gave birth to Śambhu, trident-bearing, to smite them. Thus from thy own form have sprung the two foremost deities, each to accomplish thy will—so hath Nārada told me.
O Nārāyaṇa, in the forest of Citraratha thou didst celebrate a sacrifice vast and many-rited, scattering gifts like rain. O lotus-eyed Lord, even in thy boyhood, aided by Baladeva, thou performedst deeds unmatched in past or future ages. Thou hast even dwelt in Kailāsa, surrounded by brāhmaṇas, in the joy of thy own majesty.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Arjuna, the soul-bound friend of Keśava, had spoken thus, his words ceased like a river entering the ocean. Then Janārdana, with eyes deep as the lotus and voice firm as truth, replied to that son of Pṛthā before the gathered kings:
Thou art mine, O Pārtha, and I am thine—
Thy heart and spirit one with mine.
All that is mine is thine to keep,
And all that is thine in my soul doth sleep.
Who hateth thee, hateth me as well;
Who walketh with thee, with me shall dwell.
Thou art Nara, and I am Hari—
Two who are one, from birth made tarry.
Born as the Ṛṣis for earth’s great need,
We move as one in thought and deed;
From me art thou, from thee am I—
No mortal mind our bond can spy.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
When Keśava had spoken thus in the midst of that assembly of wrathful kings, there arose a murmur of awe and assent. At that moment, Kṛṣṇā Draupadī, her eyes blazing like a sacrificial fire, came forward. She was ringed by Dhṛṣṭadyumna and her valiant brothers, the princes of Pañcāla, and she drew near to Keśava as the storm-cloud comes to the mountain for shelter.
Desiring his protection and filled with righteous anger, she addressed that refuge of all beings in words edged with devotion and fire:
“Asita and Devala declare,
In creation’s work beyond compare,
Thou art the sole Prajāpati,
The Lord of worlds, the One to be.
Jāmadagnya proclaims thee, bright,
As Viṣṇu, sacrifice, and rite;
The doer, the gift, the cause, the aim—
The altar’s heart, the holy flame.
O best of beings, Ṛṣis tell,
Thou art Forgiveness where all may dwell;
Thou art Truth, by which we stand,
Kāśyapa names thee Truth’s own brand.
Nārada names thee Lord alone
Of Sādhyas, Śivas—thine the throne;
With Brahmā, Śaṅkara, and Śakra high
Thou sportest as children with toys do ply.
Thy head upholds the starry height,
Thy feet the earth in steadfast might;
The worlds are but thy womb divine,
Thou art Eternal, without decline.
To Ṛṣis pure in Vedic lore,
Thou art the goal they all adore;
Royal sages, true in strife,
Find refuge in thy boundless life.
Lord of all, in all thou art—
The soul that dwells in every part;
The rulers, worlds, and stellar fires,
The moon, the sun, the sky’s desires—
All stand in thee, O boundless frame,
O soul of all, beyond all name!”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And Kṛṣṇā, her voice trembling yet edged with steel, spoke on to Keśava, her words carrying the weight of insult and the sting of memory.
“O mighty-armed one, in thee is established the very morality of creatures and the immortality of the worlds. Thou art the Supreme Lord of all beings, divine and human alike. Therefore, impelled by the bond between us, I will pour into thy ears the full measure of my grief.
How could one such as I—the wife of the sons of Pṛthā, the sister of Dhṛṣṭadyumna, and thy own friend—be dragged into the assembly like a chattel? Alas! In my season, stained with blood, clad in but a single garment, trembling and in tears, I was seized and pulled into the court of the Kurus. In the presence of gathered kings, the wicked sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra laughed at my shame.
O slayer of Madhu, while the sons of Pāṇḍu, the Pañcālas, and the Vr̥ṣṇis yet lived, they dared to voice their desire to make me their slave. According to the ordinance, I am the daughter-in-law of both Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Bhīṣma—yet they sought to force me into bondage.
I lay blame upon the Pāṇḍavas themselves, mighty and foremost in battle, for they stood unmoving while their wedded wife—known in all the earth—was thus dishonoured by petty men.
Fie on the might of Bhīmasena, fie on the Gāṇḍīva of Arjuna, for both endured to see me disgraced!
This eternal law is upheld by the virtuous—that the husband, however weak, must protect his wife. By guarding the wife, one guards the offspring; by guarding the offspring, one guards one’s own self. The self is born again through the wife, and therefore is she called Jaya—she in whom victory is born. In turn, a wife must guard her husband, remembering that he is to take his birth within her womb.
The sons of Pāṇḍu never forsake one who seeks their shelter—yet they abandoned me, though I implored their protection. By my five husbands have I borne five sons of exceeding energy: Prativindhya of Yudhiṣṭhira, Sutasoma of Vṛkodara, Śrutakīrti of Arjuna, Śatānīka of Nakula, and Śrutakarman of Sahadeva—all of irresistible might.
For their sake I should have been defended! Like thy own son Pradyumna, they are warriors foremost among bowmen, unconquerable in battle—yet they bear in silence the wrongs inflicted upon me by the contemptible sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra.
Deprived of their kingdom through deceit, made bondsmen, and I—dragged into the assembly in my season, clad in but a single cloth—still they did not rise in wrath. Fie on that Gāṇḍīva that none but Arjuna, Bhīma, and thou can string! Fie on Bhīma’s strength, fie on Arjuna’s skill, when Duryodhana, after all he has done, yet draws breath!
Was it not he who once drove the guileless Pāṇḍavas and their mother from the kingdom when they were still children, engaged only in study and vows? Was it not he who, hateful wretch, mixed deadly poison in Bhīma’s food? But Bhīma digested that venom unharmed, for his appointed time had not come.
Was it not he who, at the house by the banyan called Pramāṇa, bound Bhīma as he slept unsuspecting, and cast him into the Ganges? Yet the son of Kuntī, waking, burst his bonds and rose from the waters. Was it not he who set venomous black cobras upon Bhīmasena? But Bhīma, rising unscathed, crushed the serpents and with but his left hand slew their master—the favourite charioteer of Duryodhana.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And Kṛṣṇā spoke on, her words carrying both the sting of injustice and the clear memory of wrongs past.
“O Mādhava, again—when we dwelt at Vāraṇāvata—it was he, Duryodhana, who, while my sons slept beside their mother, set fire to the house with the intent to burn them alive. Who else in all the worlds could conceive such a deed?
Surrounded by the roaring flames, the illustrious Kuntī cried in terror to her children: ‘Alas, I am undone! How shall we escape this fire today? Alas, my little children, we are lost!’
Then Bhīma, mighty-armed and fierce as the storm-wind, comforted his mother and brothers: ‘Fear not, for like Garuḍa the son of Vinatā, I shall bear you through the air; this fire shall not touch us.’
Lifting his mother upon his left flank, the king Yudhiṣṭhira upon his right, the twins upon each shoulder, and Vibhatsu upon his back, Vṛkodara leapt in a single bound beyond the sea of fire, delivering all from death.
That very night, they journeyed with their mother until they neared the forest of Hiḍimbā. Weary and distressed, they slept upon the earth. But a Rākṣasī named Hiḍimbā, seeing Bhīma’s form and strength, was pierced by desire and sought him for her lord. She took his feet upon her lap, pressing them with soft hands.
The mighty Bhīma awoke and asked, ‘O woman of faultless form, what seekest thou here?’ She, able to take any shape at will, replied: ‘Flee, for my brother will come to slay you all!’
But Bhīma, proud and fearless, answered: ‘I fear him not. Let him come; I will slay him.’
Then came that man-eating monster, hideous to behold, bellowing as he advanced. ‘O Hiḍimbā,’ he roared, ‘with whom dost thou speak? Bring him to me; I will devour him. Delay not!’
Moved by pity, she spoke nothing to betray us. But the Rākṣasa, in fury, rushed upon Bhīma, seizing his hand with a grip like the thunderbolt of Indra, striking with a force like lightning itself.
Vṛkodara, scorning to endure the pain, answered rage with rage. Then there was battle—terrible, long, and fierce—like the clash of Vāsava and Vṛtra. At last, when Hiḍimba grew weak with exertion, Bhīma, inexhaustible in might, slew him.
Hiḍimbā, spared and honoured, became the mother of Ghaṭotkaca, and Bhīma with his brothers went forth again. Led by their mother and followed by many brāhmaṇas, they journeyed to Ekacakra, guided always by Vyāsa, the well-wisher of the Pāṇḍavas. There, too, Bhīma slew another man-eating fiend—Vaka, terrible as Hiḍimba himself.
And from Ekacakra we came to the city of Drupada. There, O Mādhava, as thou didst win Rukmiṇī, the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, so did Savyasācin win me—before the eyes of the assembled kings—having performed a feat none else could match, and having fought them all to stand at my side.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And Draupadī, her heart heavy with unnumbered wounds, spoke again, her voice trembling with both sorrow and indignation:
“O Kṛṣṇa, thus burdened with grief upon grief, I live here in the forest, Dhaumya as our guide and priest—yet bereft of the presence of the venerable Kuntī. Why do these heroes, gifted with the strength of lions, sit unmoved while I am crushed beneath the malice of enemies so low and contemptible?
Must I, suffering wrongs at the hands of the wicked—foes of paltry might—burn in this grief for so long? I was born into a great race, coming into the world in a manner wondrous and rare. I am the beloved wife of the sons of Pāṇḍu, the daughter-in-law of the illustrious Pāṇḍu himself.
Yet I, foremost among women, devoted to my lords, was seized by the hair in the sight of the Pāṇḍavas—each mighty as Indra—O slayer of Madhu!”
Having spoken thus, the gentle-voiced Kṛṣṇā veiled her face in her soft hands, like closing lotus buds touched by night. Tears born of anguish welled forth, washing her full and graceful bosom adorned with auspicious marks.
Wiping her eyes, sighing in quick succession, she spoke again—angrily, her voice thick with choked emotion:
“Husbands, nor sons, nor friends, nor brothers, nor father have I—
Nor thee, O Mādhava, by my side—
For all of you sat still and dry-eyed,
When I was wronged by the low-born and sly.
The sting of Karṇa’s cruel jest
Still burns within my wounded breast;
By kinship, honour, friendship’s thread,
And by thy lordship, I claim thy stead.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then, in that assembly of warriors, Vāsudeva—Achyuta, the unfailing one—spoke to the weeping Draupadī in a voice like steady thunder:
“O fair lady, the wives of those at whom thy anger burns shall one day weep as thou weepest now—seeing their husbands lying on the earth, weltering in blood, their bodies bristling with the arrows of Vibhatsu.
Weep not, for I shall bend my every effort to raise the sons of Pāṇḍu to their rightful place. I promise, thou shalt once more be queen among kings. The heavens may fall, the Himālaya may split, the earth be rent asunder, the ocean dry to dust—yet my word shall never fail.”
Hearing these steadfast words from Achyuta, Draupadī turned her tear-bright eyes obliquely toward her third husband, Arjuna. And Arjuna, Vibhatsu of the coppery eyes, spoke gently to her:
“O lady of noble gaze, grieve not.
As Mādhava hath spoken, so it shall be—
And no other way is possible.
This is truth, unalterable and sure.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the commander of the Pañcāla host and born for the destruction of Droṇa, spoke to his sister with the certainty of fate in his voice:
“I shall strike down Droṇa the master of arms,
And Śikhaṇḍin shall lay the grandsire low.
Bhīmasena shall shatter proud Duryodhana’s charms,
And Dhanañjaya shall cause Karṇa to fall in woe.
O sister, with Rāma and Kṛṣṇa beside,
What is Indra’s own might to our tide?
Even the slayer of Vṛtra would fail in the field—
What then are the sons whom Dhṛtarāṣṭra shielded?”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
After these words of fierce resolve, every hero there turned toward Vāsudeva. Then Keśava, seated among them like the sun amid the stars, began to speak in a voice deep and steady.