novelraw Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 2 - Śālva’s Aerial City
Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 2 - Śālva’s Aerial City
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Vāsudeva, master of the Vr̥ṣṇis, spoke in the midst of the kings, his gaze fixed upon Dharma’s son, his voice steady as the march of time:
“O lord of earth, had I been in Dvārakā when this shadow of misfortune crept toward thee, such evil would never have touched thy house. Even if unbidden by Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Duryodhana, or the other sons of Kuru, I would have come to that accursed hall of dice.
Standing there, I would have summoned to my side Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kr̥pa, and Vāhlīka, and I would have counselled the son of Vicitravīrya: ‘Let thy sons have nothing to do with the throw of dice!’ I would have laid bare the snares and poisons hidden in that game—the very perils through which thou art now in distress, as once the son of Vīrasena was stripped of his kingdom.
Women, dice, the chase, and wine—
Four snares where fortune doth decline;
Each lures the mind, each drains the store,
Till wealth and honour are no more.
O mighty-armed one, those ensnared by the dice know well its evils—yet the desire for victory binds them as in a net. From dice springs loss of wealth in a single day; bitter words between kin; the fall from dignity; and the wasting away of untasted treasure.
Had the son of Ambikā heeded such counsel, the Kurus would have stood united, and virtue itself would have been preserved. If, spurning gentle words given as healing medicine, he had persisted, then, O best of the Bharatas, I would have restrained him by force. And if his courtiers—false friends in the guise of well-wishers—had aided him, I would have slain them, gamblers and plotters alike, in that very hall.
But, O son of Pāṇḍu, I was far from Ānarta when the evil came. On my return to Dvārakā, I learned from Yuyudhāna of thy calamity. Straightway, with a heart pierced by grief, I hastened here to see thee.
Alas, bull of the Bharata race, I behold thee and thy brothers sunk in this sea of misfortune.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, looking toward Keśava, spoke quietly yet with a searching gaze:
“O Kṛṣṇa, why wert thou absent from Ānarta in that hour? Tell me, O scion of the Vṛṣṇis, where didst thou dwell, and what deed held thee far from thy own kingdom?”
Keśava replied, his voice calm yet edged with the memory of combat:
“O bull of the Bharata race, I had gone to destroy the city of Śālva—Saubha by name—built of rare metals and moving at will. Hear, O foremost of Kauravas, why I was so engaged.
At thy Rājasūya sacrifice, I slew Śiśupāla, son of Damaghoṣa—mighty in arms but blinded by wrath—because he could not endure the first worship offered unto me. Learning of his death, Śālva, friend to Śiśupāla and burning with anger, came to Dvārakā while I was here with you.
He arrived in Saubha, his wondrous aerial car, and there fought fiercely with the young princes of the Vṛṣṇi race. Many heroic youths he slew, many gardens and groves he laid waste. Proclaiming loudly, ‘Where is that wretch of the Vṛṣṇis, that Vasudeva? I will humble his pride in battle and send him to Yama’s abode!’—he scoured the city like a storm searching for prey.
In his fury, he swore: ‘I shall not return until I have slain the killer of Kaṁsa and Keśin, who treacherously murdered my brother unprepared and off the field!’ So speaking, he rose into the sky, moving from place to place, his flying city a menace to all below.
When I returned to Dvārakā, I heard of his insults and of the ruin he had wrought among the Ānarttas. Wrath seized my heart; weighing all, I resolved on his destruction. Learning that he dwelt upon an island in the midst of the ocean, I set forth to seek him.
Blowing my conch, Pāñcajanya, born of the sea,
I summoned him forth, crying, ‘Come fight with me!’
Around me swarmed Dānavas in number vast,
But I struck them down till none stood fast.
Then I faced Śālva himself. It was this campaign, O mighty-armed one, that kept me from standing beside thee at the game of dice. As soon as word reached me at Hastināpura of the deceit played against thee, I hastened here to see you, who have been plunged into this sea of sorrow.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, his eyes intent upon Keśava, said:
“O illustrious Vāsudeva of mighty arms, tell me in full of the fall of the lord of Saubha. Thy words have stirred my curiosity, but it is not yet satisfied.”
Vāsudeva spoke:
“O mighty-armed king, hear then in detail. When Śālva learned that I had slain Śiśupāla, son of Śrutāśravas, he came in wrath to Dvārakā, bringing with him all his force. He encamped about the city like a tightening noose—besieging it both from the earth and from the sky in his aerial fortress, Saubha.
From the upper regions he began the assault, showering weapons thick as rain from all sides. But, O bull of the Bharatas, Dvārakā was ready. The city stood girded in the science of fortification—its ramparts crowned with pennons and archways, guarded by watch-towers and battle-turrets. Streets were barricaded with spiked works, gates were filled with stores, engines for hurling firebrands and burning missiles were in place, vessels of deerskin brimmed with water, trumpets and tabors and great drums were set for the signal, and all manner of weapons lay in wait—lances, forks, śataghnīs, ploughshares, rockets, stones, and battle-axes, with shields bossed in iron, and engines for hurling balls, bullets, and scalding liquids.
The city was ringed with war-chariots, and guarded by heroes—Gada, Sāmba, Uddhava, and many others of the Vṛṣṇi line—men of tested valour, born of noble houses, equal to any foe. These warriors held the key positions, with cavalry and standard-bearers at their side.
Ugrasena and Uddhava, to keep the garrison sharp, proclaimed throughout the city that none should drink strong drink. The Vṛṣṇis and Andhakas, knowing well the peril, stayed sober and vigilant.
The jesters, dancers, and singers of Ānarta were expelled from the city; all bridges were broken, boats forbidden to ply. Around the walls, trenches were spiked with poles, the ground for two miles made uneven, dug with pits and strewn with hidden combustibles.
Thus did Dvārakā, strong by nature,
Stand yet stronger by art and measure—
Weapons in store, and hearts aflame,
Each man alert, each known by name.
Gold paid to all, in full or more,
So none would falter at war’s door.
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No man entered or left without the agreed sign. The streets and open grounds swarmed with elephants and horses; every fighter was fed, clothed, armed, and bound by gratitude or duty.
O lotus-eyed son of Kuru, thus was Dvārakā—more prepared than ever before—made ready by Āhuka Ugrasena, so that she shone like the city of Indra awaiting battle.”
Vāsudeva spoke:
“O king of kings, hear now how Śālva, lord of Saubha, came against our city with a vast host—infantry, horse, and elephants beyond counting. Four full divisions of royal forces he led, drawn up upon level ground well-watered, yet avoiding sacred trees, temples, and the resting-places of the dead.
Every road to Dvārakā was closed, every hidden way barred by his camp. Then, like Garuḍa stooping from the sky, Śālva swept down upon us with all his strength—his warriors skilled in arms, his chariots flying banners, his elephants armoured, his cavalry keen, and his foot-soldiers well-fed and richly paid, each bearing the marks of a hero.
When the Vr̥ṣṇi princes beheld that mighty army, they resolved to sally forth. Charudeṣṇa, Sāmba, and mighty Pradyumna, all mailed and adorned, with colours flying, mounted their chariots and went out to meet the countless host of Śālva.
Sāmba, son of Jāmbavatī,
Bent his bow with eager glee;
Against him strode Kshemavṛddhi grim,
Śālva’s chief and counsellor him.
Arrows fell like Indra’s rain, but Kshemavṛddhi stood unmoved, like Himavat beneath the storm. Then the general, using powers of illusion, launched a greater volley still—but Sāmba, countering illusion with illusion, poured upon him a thousand shafts, driving him from the field upon a swift steed.
Then came the great Dānava Vegavat against my son. Sāmba, fearless, met him mace in hand, whirling it till it blurred in the air, and with a single cast struck Vegavat down—fallen like a storm-broken tree in the forest.
Pressing on, my son broke into the enemy’s ranks. There Charudeṣṇa met the mighty bowman Vivindhya, and their combat was fierce as the ancient clash of Vṛtra and Vāsava. Arrow pierced arrow, and both roared like lions in the hills. Then the son of Rukmiṇī, filled with wrath, loosed a weapon bright as the sun, charged with incantations—striking Vivindhya dead upon the field.
When Vivindhya fell and Śālva’s host wavered, the lord of Saubha himself advanced upon his wondrous aerial car. At the sight of it, the defenders of Dvārakā faltered—
but Pradyumna, son of Kṛṣṇa, rode forth and called to the Anarttas:
“Stand firm! Let no man’s courage fail!
Behold me face him—my shafts shall prevail.
By serpents’ flight my arrows speed,
This host shall perish by my deed.
This very day, that wretch shall die,
His car cast down from the empty sky!”
O son of Pāṇḍu, at his voice, the Yādava warriors steadied themselves and fought with renewed spirit, awaiting the moment when Pradyumna would strike down Śālva himself.”
Vāsudeva said:
“O bull of the Bharata race, after rallying the Yādava host with words of cheer, the son of Rukmiṇī ascended his golden chariot, yoked with steeds clad in mail, swift as the wind and eager for battle.
Above his car rose a tall standard, bearing the fierce form of the makara, its gaping jaws like the mouth of Yama himself. With bow in hand, quiver and sword at his side, and fingers guarded in leather, he twanged his bow with a sound like the crash of lightning. Passing it from hand to hand as though in disdain of his foes, he loosed shaft upon shaft so swiftly that no eye could mark the space between them.
His face changed not in hue, his limbs shook not; only his lion-like roars rang out over the din of battle. At the sight of the golden flagstaff with its devouring sea-monster, the warriors of Śālva’s host quailed in heart.
Then Pradyumna, mower of foes, drove straight for Śālva himself. Braved thus, the king of Saubha could ill endure the challenge. Descending from his wondrous aerial car, he mounted another chariot—resplendent with gold, bristling with flags and quivers—and advanced to meet the foremost of the Vr̥ṣṇis.
Like Vāsava clashing with Vali in days of old,
They met with arrows bright and bold;
The sky grew dark with the feathered rain,
The earth resounded with the strain.
Śālva, maddened with wrath, loosed blazing shafts; but my son, strong in the energy of his arms, turned aside that storm. Then the king, his eyes red with fury, shot weapons of dazzling splendour. Struck by those shafts, Pradyumna answered with a single arrow, keen and vital as the serpent’s fang. Piercing Śālva’s armour, it entered his heart; the lord of Saubha fell senseless upon his car.
At their master’s fall, the foremost of the Dānavas fled, their feet tearing the ground. The cry of ‘Alas!’ and ‘Oh!’ rose from the ranks of Śālva’s army.
But the mighty one regained his senses, and in sudden rage poured a volley upon my son. Arrows smote Pradyumna about the throat, and his strength waned upon his chariot. Shouting like a lion, Śālva filled the field with his cry and, seizing the moment, rained a fresh storm of shafts.
Pierced in many places, stunned, and bereft of sense, the son of Rukmiṇī stood motionless—like a banner drooping in the stillness before a storm.”
Vāsudeva said:
“O king, when the arrows of Śālva struck Pradyumna senseless, the Yādavas who had come to the fight were cast into grief. A murmur of ‘Alas!’ and ‘Oh!’ ran through the Vr̥ṣṇis and Andhakas, while joy flared in the enemy’s ranks.
The son of Daruka, a charioteer trained in every art of his craft, seeing his master thus fallen, turned the steeds from the press of battle and bore him away. Not far had they gone when that best of warriors awoke from his swoon, seized his bow, and spoke:
“O son of the Sūta, what is this thou hast done?
Why leavest thou the field while I yet breathe?
Is this the way of Vr̥ṣṇi heroes in war?
Has the sight of Śālva unmanned thee? Or has thy courage failed at the press of the fight? Speak truly!”
The charioteer answered:
“O son of Keśava, my heart is steady and fear has not touched me. Yet the task of mastering Śālva is no light thing. It is the duty of the charioteer to guard his warrior when he is struck senseless. Alone thou art, and the Dānavas are many. To protect thee was my thought—therefore I bore thee away.”
Vāsudeva continued:
Then he, whose standard bears the makara, answered with fire:
“Turn back the car, O son of Daruka, and never again do this thing.
No son of the Vr̥ṣṇi race turns his back while life yet beats in his breast.
Nor does he strike a foe fallen and crying for quarter,
Nor lift weapon against woman, child, aged man,
Nor against one unarmed or whose bow is broken.
Thou art born in the race of charioteers; thou knowest our ways in battle.
Wouldst thou have Madhava, elder brother of Gada, hear that I fled in confusion?
Wouldst thou have mighty Baladeva, clad in blue and flushed with wine,
Or Satyaki the lion-hearted, say I left the field?
Shāmba, Charudeṣṇa, Gada, Śaraṇa, Akrūra—
What will they think when they hear I came back with arrows in my back?
And the wives of the Vr̥ṣṇis, meeting together, will say:
‘This Pradyumna, once called brave, has come home a coward.’
Fie on such shame—it is heavier than death.
Hari, slayer of Madhu, has entrusted this field to me while he is at Yudhiṣṭhira’s sacrifice.
When brave Kṛtavarman would have met Śālva, I stayed him, claiming the fight for my own.
How shall I look on him again, or on Keśava himself,
If I return with my desire for battle unfulfilled,
And my back pierced with the arrows of the foe?
Therefore, turn the chariot, O son of Daruka.
Even in the greatest peril, never again bear me from the fight.
Life itself I hold cheap, if it must be lived with the name of coward upon me.”
Vāsudeva said:
“Thus addressed, the son of the Sūta race replied swiftly to Pradyumna, foremost among the strong:
‘O son of Rukmiṇī, I do not shrink from guiding the steeds into the heart of battle. I know well the customs of the Vr̥ṣṇis in war—there is no fault in me for turning aside. Yet the charioteer is taught above all to protect the warrior upon the car. You were struck deep by Śālva’s arrows, sorely wounded and bereft of sense. Therefore I withdrew you from the field.
But now that you stand whole again, O son of Keśava, behold my skill! I am born of Dāruka and trained to my craft. Today I shall drive into the very heart of Śālva’s array without fear.’
Vāsudeva continued:
Saying this, the charioteer pulled the reins and urged the steeds to their speed. Whip and hand worked in harmony; the golden-carved yoke rang, and the noble horses seemed to leap through air, wheeling right and left, circling in patterns—now alike, now unlike—never touching the earth with their hooves.
The watchers marvelled as Dāruka’s son spun the chariot about Śālva’s host like a hawk threading the sky. Unable to endure this display, the lord of Saubha loosed three arrows at the charioteer. Unheeding, the driver kept his course to the right.
Śālva then rained down a storm of weapons upon the son of Rukmiṇī. But that slayer of foes, smiling, sheared them all in mid-flight.
Then the Asura-lord took refuge in the dark art of his kind,
Pouring arrows thick as monsoon rain—
But Pradyumna, loosing the Brahma weapon,
Shattered them as they sped through the air.
Piercing Śālva’s head, breast, and brow with keen shafts, Pradyumna struck him senseless to the earth. Seeing his foe fallen, he fixed upon his bowstring a peerless arrow—flaming like Agni, venomous as the serpent’s fang, worshipped among the Daśārhas as the destroyer of all foes.
The cry of ‘Oh!’ and ‘Alas!’ rose through the sky, and in that moment the celestials themselves, led by Indra and Kubera, sent Nārada and swift-moving Vāyu to speak:
‘O son of Rukmiṇī, Śālva may not fall by your hand. Draw back the shaft. His death is fated to be at the hands of Kṛṣṇa, son of Devakī. This word of the Creator must not be made false. That arrow you bear can slay any being—spare it now.’
Gladdened by the divine counsel, Pradyumna unstrung the shaft and placed it again in his quiver. Then the mighty Śālva, torn and weary from the Vr̥ṣṇi prince’s arrows, rose in haste and fled. Mounting once more his aerial car of precious metals, the wicked one left Dvārakā and sped away into the sky.”