novelraw Arc 7 - Draupadi-Satyabhama Samvada and Ghosa Yatra Parva Chapter 2 - Duryodhana taunts the Panvas
Arc 7 - Draupadi-Satyabhama Samvada and Ghosa Yatra Parva Chapter 2 - Duryodhana taunts the Panvas
Janamejaya said:
“O Brāhmaṇa, while those foremost of men—the sons of Pṛthā—passed their days in the forest, enduring the extremes of summer and winter, of wind and blazing sun, what did they do when they reached the sacred woods and lake named Dvaita?”
Vaiśampāyana said:
After the Pāṇḍavas had arrived at Dvaita, they chose for themselves a dwelling far from the habitations of men. There, amid groves of flowering trees and the echoes of river-valleys, they made their hermitage. In that solitude, venerable ṛṣis, radiant with Vedic wisdom, often came to see them. The princes received those holy ones with due reverence, honoring them as one honors fire on the altar.
One day, O king, there came a Brāhmaṇa, famed throughout the earth for his eloquence. After conversing with the Pāṇḍavas, he departed at his will to the court of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the old king, son of Vicitravīrya. Welcomed with courtesy, he spoke there of the exiled princes—of Yudhiṣṭhira, of Bhīma, of Arjuna, and the twins—reduced to frailty by exposure to sun and wind, and of Kṛṣṇā Draupadī, overwhelmed by sorrow though she had mighty heroes for husbands.
Hearing his words, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, stricken with grief, sighed deeply and trembled in his heart. Knowing all this had sprung from his own weakness, he sought to steady himself, yet sorrow poured from him like smoke from a smouldering fire.
In mournful tones he spoke:
“Alas! How fares Yudhiṣṭhira now—
Eldest of my sons, pious, true?
Once waked with praises soft at dawn,
He sleeps on earth, with grief for due.
How lies Bhīma, fierce and strong,
Upon the bare and bitter ground?
How sleeps Arjuna, pierced with wrong,
Whose heart by vengeance is bound?
The twins, who shine like gods on high,
Restrain their wrath, but wake in woe;
And Draupadī, my daughter too,
What cruel fate compels her so?”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus lamented the blind monarch. He remembered the harsh words of Duḥśāsana at the dice hall, which, like sparks cast into dry grass, still smouldered in Bhīma’s heart. He knew that Arjuna’s valor, fed by celestial weapons, was a flame waiting only for the wind of time.
The king continued, reflecting on destiny:
“Man acts with right or wrong intent,
Yet fruit of deed confounds the mind;
The gambler plays, the crop is sown—
But fate decides what fruit we find.
What else but destiny, O sage?
The wind will blow, the night will wane;
The woman pregnant must give birth,
The dawn will rise, the eve again.
Behold! Arjuna from the woods
Ascended heaven in mortal frame;
Returning armed with Indra’s might,
He bears destruction in my name.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
These words of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, heavy with grief and fear, were borne to Duryodhana by Śakuni, the son of Suvala. He found Duryodhana seated with Karṇa and spoke privately of what the king had uttered. Hearing this, Duryodhana—though of narrow sight—was filled with grief and unease at heart.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing the lamentations of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Suvala’s son Śakuni, seizing an opportunity, spoke unto Duryodhana in the company of Karṇa. Their words were honeyed with flattery but sharp with malice, urging the Kuru prince toward folly.
Śakuni said:
“By thine own hand the Pāṇḍavas lie,
Exiled to woods, their glory gone;
Thou rulest earth from sea to sky,
Like Indra seated on his throne.
The kings of east and south and west,
Of northern lands and far domains,
Bend low to thee, their homage pressed,
Their tribute flowing in thy reins.
That blazing Fortune once we saw
In Indraprastha’s halls of gold,
Now shines on thee, O mighty king—
By wit and dice thy power is rolled.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Śakuni reminded Duryodhana how the prosperity that had once dwelt with Yudhiṣṭhira at Indraprastha now seemed to shine on him. He exalted the king, likening him to the Sun among gods, adored by Brahmanas and courted by kings.
Then Karṇa, swelling with spite, joined his words:
“Come then, O king, let us behold
The sons of Pṛthā, wan and bare;
They who once disdained command,
Now gnaw the roots of want and care.
Let them behold thy wealth, thy train,
Thy queens adorned with gems that blaze;
While Draupadī, in bark attire,
Weeps in silence, scorched by gaze.
What joy is greater, tell me true,
Than foes in misery to see?
The gift of wealth, the gain of lands,
Is naught to triumph won like thee!”
Vaiśampāyana explained:
Thus did Śakuni and Karṇa pour venom into the ears of Duryodhana. They urged him to visit the lake of Dvaita under the guise of inspecting cattle, so that he might flaunt his prosperity before the eyes of the Pāṇḍavas, while they endured poverty and exile.
Śakuni further said:
“Thy wife in silks, with jewels bright,
Let Draupadī behold in pain;
Her sorrow then shall burn more deep
Than shame she felt in that assembly’s stain.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Such were the words of the Gandhara prince and of Karṇa, son of the Sūta. Having spoken thus, they fell silent. Their counsel, born of envy and cruelty, settled like poison in Duryodhana’s mind.
When those words of the king reached the ears of Śakuni, the son of Suvala, he seized the moment. With Karṇa at his side he approached Duryodhana and poured forth flattery that was honeyed at the lip yet bitter at the heart, urging the prince to display his newly-won prosperity before the exiles.
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Duryodhana, hearing Karṇa’s vehement counsel, felt at first a fierce gladness; yet that gladness was quickly shadowed by doubt and sorrow. Moved by conflicting counsels and by filial fear, he spoke aloud, his voice betraying the turmoil within.
He said:
“My heart holds both the joy and fear,
The triumph near, the danger clear.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra, sire, doth mourn and pause—
He loves those sons, although unjust the cause.
If he but mark our purpose plain,
He will forbid this proud campaign;
Yet oh, what bliss to see them bowed,
Their robes of gold by exile cowed!
To see Bhīma, Arjuna, great,
Clad now in barks, bestride their fate—
This sight would crown my life’s desire,
And set my hungry spirit higher.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus spoke Duryodhana—his heart torn between the craving for triumph and the dread of his father’s displeasure. He feared the remonstrance of Dhṛtarāṣṭra and dreaded to act in a manner that would provoke the old king’s grief. Yet the thought of Draupadī robed in rags and his own splendour displayed before her inflamed his blood. He pressed upon Karṇa and Śakuni the need for a device whereby he might obtain the king’s sanction.
That night, while the palace slept and plans took shape in whispered council, Karṇa came smiling to Duryodhana the next morn and unfolded his contrivance. Speaking with practiced ease, he cast the counsel as a matter of plain duty.
Karna spoke:
“Let it be cattle and pastures named;
Let reason plain be put, untamed.
To Dwaita’s woods our herds repair,
A king’s concern to see them there.
Cattle-stations call the sovereign,
And kings should oft their charge revisit;
No fault will father find therein—
Thus shall our purpose wear no sin.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Karna proposed that the expedition be framed as a routine inspection of herds—an act befitting royal duty. If the pretext were cattle and stations, he argued, Dhṛtarāṣṭra could scarce refuse permission. The counsel was shrewd; it clothed malice with propriety.
Śakuni, crafty and swift to seize advantage, echoed Karṇa’s design with glee. In measured verse he added confirmation, making the plot seem inevitable and safe.
Śakuni said:
“This plan, O king, my thought foresaw;
The father’s heart will veil the law.
He may command, or grant consent—
Our herds await in Dwaita-rent.
Thus shall we go, in pomp and show,
And let the exiles feel our glow;
No blame shall stain our name or brow,
When we return as kings — and how!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
So the three laughed together, hands joined in counsel. Their laughter, O king, was the crackle of dry leaves about to feed a great flame. Satisfied with the pretext they had fashioned, they went to seek the presence of the chief of the Kurus and to obtain the sanction for their journey.
Thus did the seeds of the Ghoṣa-Yātrā take root—sown not for the care of kine but for the display of power, and watered in secret by envy and cunning.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus resolved, Duryodhana, Karṇa, and Śakuni went to see the blind king Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Bowing to him with due reverence, they enquired of his welfare, and he in turn of theirs. Then, as had been prearranged, a cowherd named Sāmanga entered the court and spoke of the herds, declaring that the season for their tally and the marking of calves had arrived.
Thereupon Karṇa, son of Rādha, and the crafty son of Suvala addressed Dhṛtarāṣṭra together, saying:
“O lord of men, the herds await,
In Dvaita’s woods, in fair estate;
The season calls for tale and brand,
And time is ripe for sport at hand.
Let Duryodhana seek the chase,
With bow in hand and kingly grace;
Among the cattle let him ride,
And hunt the deer with lords beside.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing these words, Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s heart trembled with misgiving. He feared the peril that lay in proximity to the Pāṇḍavas, and spoke with anxious foresight.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“The chase and cattle-count are meet,
And herdsmen’s trust is but half-sweet;
Yet near those woods the Pāṇḍavas stay,
Strong in their vows and fierce in fray.
Yudhiṣṭhira’s wrath is still,
But Bhīma’s heart is quick to kill;
And Kṛṣṇā, fire of Yajñasena’s line,
With but a glance could scorch and pine.
If wronged by number or by chance,
Your hosts may fall to their advance;
For Arjuna with Gandiva’s might
Could scatter you as wind the night.
Send faithful men to mark the kine,
But go not there with hearts malign;
For ruin waits where envy leads,
And folly sows disastrous seeds.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus cautioned the aged king, but Śakuni, ever wily, soothed him with words dipped in the honey of apparent reason.
Śakuni said:
“Fear not, O king, thy sons are bound
By Yudhiṣṭhira’s oath profound.
In forest he abides his term,
No anger will his heart confirm.
The brothers all obey his will,
No cause for wrath, their hands are still;
We seek but hunting, naught beside,
And cattle-tale our only guide.
The Pāṇḍavas we shall not see,
No quarrel shall there ever be.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Overcome by Śakuni’s words, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, though reluctant, gave leave. And so, Duryodhana, son of Gandhārī, set forth with his brothers and counsellors, accompanied by Karṇa and Duḥśāsana, by the son of Suvala, and by many princes and ladies in thousands.
And behold, O king! The procession was vast: eight thousand chariots rolled like thunderclouds; thirty thousand elephants moved like living hills; nine thousand horses neighing, thousands upon thousands of footmen, merchants, traders, and artisans, singers, dancers, and hunters trained in the chase, all followed the proud prince.
The roads shook beneath their passage, and the tumult rose like the voice of stormwinds in the monsoon.
“With elephants and steeds in throng,
With tents and shops that moved along,
With women decked in gems of light,
The Kuru host set forth in might.
Like ocean’s roar the tumult spread,
As banners waved above each head;
The earth herself seemed full to brim
With Duryodhana’s haughty whim.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus did Duryodhana, blazing in borrowed prosperity, reach the lake of Dvaita. Yet even there, proud though he was, he encamped at a distance of four miles, as if fate itself kept him apart from the Pāṇḍavas.
Vaiśampāyana said:
King Duryodhana, moving from forest to forest, came at last to the great cattle-stations and encamped his vast host. At his command, attendants selected a delightful site abounding in water and trees, adorned with every convenience. For Karṇa, Śakuni, and the other Kaurava princes, separate abodes were swiftly raised.
The prince of the Kurus gazed with pride upon his herds by hundreds and thousands. He examined their limbs and marks, counted the calves, branded them with sign, and noted those still untamed. Surrounded by cowherds and soldiers, he sported joyfully, distributing food, wealth, and ornaments among those who flattered his pride.
In the shade of trees, virgins adorned with gold and gems, skilled in dance and song, ministered to his pleasure. The forests echoed with music, laughter, and the cries of animals slain, for the king, with his bow, pierced deer, buffaloes, bears, and boars in countless numbers, delighting in the slaughter as if he were Indra loosing his thunderbolts.
At last, flushed with wine and triumph, Duryodhana reached the sacred lake of Dvaitavana. That place was rich with fragrance—saptacchadas, puṇṇāgas, vakulas in bloom; the air was sweet with the hum of honey-drunk bees and the calls of peacocks and blue-throated jays. The Kaurava lord entered as if he were Indra himself descending into Nandana grove.
But nearby, Yudhiṣṭhira the Just, calm in exile, dwelt with Draupadī, performing the Rājarṣi yajña daily, according to the rites prescribed for kings and seers who abide in forests. Thus, in the same wood, the proud and the humble, the intoxicated and the ascetic, lived side by side—each watched by destiny.
Duryodhana, not content, commanded his men by thousands:
“Let pleasure-houses be raised near the lake. Let the groves resound with festivity!”
Obedient, his picked soldiers advanced to the banks of Dvaita. Yet there they found the way barred—for the Gandharvas had already come.
From the abode of Kubera had Chitrasena, king of the Gandharvas, descended, accompanied by hosts of celestial warriors, radiant sons of the gods, and the Apsaras in throngs. Seeking sport, they had chosen that sacred lake and closed it against all comers.
The attendants of Duryodhana returned in haste, reporting that the Gandharvas forbade entry. Hearing this, the Kuru prince’s pride swelled with wrath.
He commanded:
“Go forth, my warriors, strong and fleet,
Drive out these dwellers of retreat;
For Duryodhana, Kuru’s lord,
Shall brook no check, nor stay his sword!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
The vanguard of his army, thus ordered, marched again to the lake. Standing proud, they addressed the celestials:
“The mighty Duryodhana comes hither for sport! Stand aside! Make way for the son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra!”
The Gandharvas laughed aloud, their voices ringing like thunder, and in tones of disdain they replied:
They said:
“Your king is blind with folly’s flame,
He knows not heaven’s eternal name;
Who dares command the sons of sky
As though to him in thrall we lie?
Return at once, O mortal bands,
Or Yama claim you with his hands;
This day your boast, your pride, your breath—
Shall end in ruin, pain, and death!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus mocked and threatened, the foremost of the Kuru troops fled back in haste, trembling, to where Duryodhana sat.
Vaiśampāyana said:
The Kuru soldiers, trembling, returned to their master and repeated every harsh word spoken by the Gandharvas. Hearing this, Duryodhana, his heart swollen with fury, spoke in wrath to his men:
He thundered:
“Who dares oppose my royal will?
Though Indra himself with gods should come,
Strike down these sky-borne wretches here,
And let them know the Kurus’ son!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus commanded, the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, their officers, and warriors by thousands armed themselves, filling the ten quarters with roars like lions in a storm. They rushed at the Gandharvas who guarded the gates of Dvaita forest.
The Gandharvas, forbidding them gently a second time, were unheeded. The Kurus pressed forward. When words failed, the celestials flew to their king, Chitrasena, and reported all.
Then Chitrasena, king of the Gandharvas, his eyes flashing with wrath, gave command:
“Punish these mortals of wicked intent!”
At his word the celestial host, weapons in hand, rushed forth like stormclouds. Beholding their impetuous charge, the Kuru soldiers broke and fled in fear. Yet one man did not retreat: Karṇa, son of the Sun.
Firm as a mountain peak he stood, and with swift hands he loosed countless shafts. Kṣurapras, bhallas, arrows tipped with steel—these he sent in showers, severing heads, cleaving armor, filling the air with the cries of Gandharvas. For a time he checked their advance, and the hosts of Chitrasena reeled in anguish.
But the sky-born warriors came on in swarms, hundreds and thousands, covering the earth like waves of the sea. Then Duryodhana, Śakuni, Duḥśāsana, Vikarna, and other princes, riding chariots whose wheels roared like Garuḍa’s wings, rushed to support Karṇa. A great battle was joined—fierce, tumultuous, making men’s hair stand on end.
At first the Gandharvas were sore afflicted by the Kurus’ shafts, and the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra shouted in triumph. But then Chitrasena himself rose in fury. Skilled in celestial warfare, he invoked weapons of illusion.
“The sky grew dark with phantom foes,
Each Kuru saw ten round him close;
Confounded, stunned, they lost their ground,
And panic spread through ranks profound.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
The Kuru army, overwhelmed, fled in terror, each man seeking to save his own life. Only a few stood: Duryodhana himself, Śakuni, Duḥśāsana, and Karṇa. Bleeding, mangled, yet resolute, they fought on.
The Gandharvas, bent on Karṇa’s destruction, surrounded him with swords, axes, and spears. They cut down his yoke, his flagstaff, the shaft of his car, his horses, his charioteer, his umbrella, his fender, his joints. In moments his chariot was shattered into splinters.
Then, leaping down with sword and shield in hand, Karṇa sprang like a lion from a broken cage. Mounting Vikarna’s car, he urged the steeds, seeking escape from the encircling foe.