novelraw Arc 2 - Go-Harana Parva Chapter 1 - The Cattle Raid on Matsya
Arc 2 - Go-Harana Parva Chapter 1 - The Cattle Raid on Matsya
Vaiṣampāyana said:
“After the tidings of the Sūta–slaughter had been told, Duryodhana pondered long within his breast, like a cloud gathering thunder. He saw the wheel of the year already turning toward its close, and the thirteenth month of the exile—wherein the sons of Pṛthā must remain unrecognised—neared its end. If those princes could pass the remainder of that term unspotted, their oath would stand fulfilled; and then, lions released, they would return to ravage and to reclaim.
Therefore the Kaurava monarch, mindful of the price of delay, rose and addressed his council with careful words. He bade them devise means not to destroy his realm outright, but to compel the Pandavas to break their vow or to retire once more into the forest—by craft rather than by folly—so that no sudden wrath should fall on the Kuru house.”
“The greater part of their hidden year is gone—
What little time remains is all our hope.
If they fulfil the pledge with patience stern,
They’ll rise like elephants at last to crush us.
Let no idle counsel blind our days;
Seek then such stratagems as draw them forth,
Or soothe the land so peace may reign,
And strip from their disguise the power of fate.”
Vaiṣampāyana said:
“Kāma (Karna), eager and cunning, sprang forward with a plan of spying and subtle pursuit. He counselled that new bands of searchers—swifter, craftier, disguised as merchants, mendicants, and mendicant bards—should sift every haunt where men hide: the inner courts of palaces, hermitages, river–banks, mountain caves, and crowded marts. Let no region be left unpried.”
“Send those who wear guises like the snake its skin—
Men versed in craft, in speech, in secret ways.
Let them thread towns, temples, mines, and groves,
And smoke from every hearth the place they hide.
In women’s courts, in sages’ silent shades,
On mountain–ledge and holy bathing–strand,
Let watchers go whose art is to discover,
Till Pandu’s sons are found or prove but ghosts.”
Vaiṣampāyana said:
“Then Dussasana—hot of heart and cruel of spirit—rose in support, urging that only those spies in whom the Kauravas trusted, and who had already tasted reward, should be again set to range the world. He spoke of many possibilities: that the Pandavas might be secreted in some fastness, or at the ocean’s edge, or indeed dead by wild beasts or strange calamity. ‘Act, therefore,’ he cried, ‘with energy and dispatch; waste no more in vain debate.’”
“Let those in whom we trust—rewarded first—
Go forth again, with purse and guise prepared.
From province unto province let them range,
For time but narrows and our plans must act.
If hidden still, swift craft shall find their track;
If perished, let no needless torment stay.
Take now the charge, O prince, and cast aside
All anxious doubt—do what thy nature wills.”
Vaiṣampāyana said:
“And thus the council closed upon resolve: more spies, more disguise, more searching—elsewhere, nearer, everywhere. Duryodhana’s heart burned to end that watch; and the net was to be spread wide, that the sons of Pṛthā might be driven from their sanctuary or caught unawares before the last day of their vow should pass.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Then Droṇa, the preceptor, he of mighty energy and steady wisdom, spake words weighty as mountains, illumined by his discernment. He restrained the pride of Duryodhana and the rash counsel of his brothers, and spoke of the sons of Pṛthā as one who had seen their essence.”
Droṇa said:
“Never do men like the Pāṇḍavas perish—
Brave are they, and trained in every art.
Obedient unto Yudhiṣṭhira the Just,
Who walketh ever in the path of dharma,
Firm in truth, gentle, and versed in policy,
Guiding his brethren as a father his sons.
Arjuna, lion among bowmen,
Bhīma, fierce as Death’s own wrath,
Nakula and Sahadeva, obedient, pure,
And Draupadī of steadfast will—
These, united in virtue and vow,
Can never sink beneath the weight of fate.
They wait but for their hour,
As the lion waiteth in shadow for the prey.
When time is ripe, their power will blaze forth,
And they shall restore their glory entire.
A mere glance from Yudhiṣṭhira’s eye,
Pure and ascetic, can consume his foes.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
“Thus did Droṇa warn the Kurus. He urged them to act swiftly, not blindly, and to make ready for the return of the exiled princes. He advised that Brahmanas, Cāraṇas, and wandering Ṛṣis crowned with tapasya should be dispatched once more in the search. For only such as these—ascetics, wise in subtle ways, and crowned with siddhi—might, by chance or by destiny, discern the place where the sons of Pṛthā lived, concealed by dharma and by fate.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Then Bhīṣma, the son of Śantanu, grandsire of the Kurus, he who was conversant with the Vedas and the eternal laws, who knew the measure of time and place, rose after Droṇa’s words were ended. His voice was deep as the murmur of the ocean, and his speech was impartial, stainless, and worthy of the wise.”
Bhīṣma said:
“The words of the preceptor Droṇa, grounded in truth,
Are worthy of assent, and I declare them approved.
The sons of Pṛthā, marked with every auspicious sign,
Can never wither beneath misfortune.
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Guided by Yudhiṣṭhira, steadfast in dharma,
Obedient to Keśava, master of their passions,
Strong as lions and pure in conduct,
They abide in disguise, but they do not perish.
Where Yudhiṣṭhira dwells, there is no decline;
Rain falleth in due season, harvests are full,
Rice is rich in grain, fruits are filled with juice,
And flowers shed their fragrance unspoiled.
Where Yudhiṣṭhira dwells, kine are plenteous,
Never lean, but rich in milk and butter.
Men there are mild, truthful, and pure,
Women chaste, homes content, guests honoured.
There, Vedic hymns are chanted in every dwelling,
Sacrifices are offered, last libations poured.
The Brahmanas live firm in vow and virtue,
And the people seek only what is good.
There, breezes are cool, words are gentle,
Meetings of men are marked by friendship.
No malice, no envy, no vain pride is there;
Only generosity, self-restraint, and cheer.
Such is the land where Yudhiṣṭhira hides—
But who can discover him? Not even seers.
For in that king are patience and modesty,
Forgiveness, prosperity, and tranquil fame.
Even Brahmanas crowned with tapas
Would fail to discern him if he wills concealment.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
“Thus spoke Bhīṣma, impartial and grave, his words piercing the hearts of the Kurus. He told Duryodhana that Yudhiṣṭhira could not be unmasked by spies, for wherever he lived, the land itself became sanctified, the people righteous, and prosperity secure. And he urged the prince of the Kuru race to reflect without malice, to act only with honest counsel, and to abandon crooked devices against the sons of Pāṇḍu.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Then Kr̥pa, son of Śāradvāta, rose and, approving Bhīṣma’s words, added his counsel—practical, sharp-eyed, and fit for a king who would not be taken unawares. He warned that wisdom must match prophecy: though the Pāṇḍavas be mighty and protected by Dharma, prudence demands preparation.”
Kr̥pa spoke
“Seek them with spies, in guise and stealth,
Thread marts and hermitages, measure wealth.
Know well thy strength, thy friends, thy foes,
Let crafty arts the balance close.
Buy, bribe, or bind by ties of gold,
Break hostile bands; make weak-men bold;
When exiles return with storm and sword,
Let treaties, troops, and treasure guard the lord.”
Vaiśampāyana continued
“Kr̥pa’s counsel was plain: send cunning scouts to trace the Pandavas’ track; reckon the power of Duryodhana and the Kuru host; train and augment the army; fill the treasury; try arts of conciliation and division alike—gifts, promises, and secret bribery. By such means, when the thirteenth year closes and those princes reappear—blazing like lions—Duryodhana might either meet them from strength or treat from advantage. In short, Kr̥pa bade both watchfulness and statecraft: prepare for battle, but first secure the means by policy.”
“When lion-hearts again shall wake,
Be thine the web that kingsmen make;
With coffers full and banners high,
Meet fate with planning, not with cry.”
Thus Kr̥pa’s word advised both vigilance and the arts of rule—spying, strengthening, and diplomacy—so that the Kuru realm might not be undone when the sons of Prithā return.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the court of Hastināpura had fallen silent after much counsel, there arose yet another voice—fierce with envy, sharpened by long defeat. It was Susarman, lord of the Trigartas, many times humbled before by the Matsya host, who now saw his moment.
Susarman spoke:
“O king, the proud Matsya once laid waste my land,
Led by Kīcaka’s arm and his terrible band.
Many a time was I humbled in strife,
But his breath is gone, he hath yielded his life.
Virāṭa is shaken, his refuge is slain,
His kingdom is rich, abounding in grain.
His gems and his kine we may swiftly divide,
His pride once broken, he’ll sue, or subside.
Let us seize his cattle, his herds by the score,
Till the Matsya’s strength is his strength no more.
Unite, O Kurus, with Trigarta array—
This fortune is ours, let us strike it today!”
Hearing this, Karṇa, the son of the sun, fiery of speech, looked upon Duryodhana and agreed:
“Susarman speaks with wisdom. The time is ripe. Let the armies march—what care have we for the sons of Pāṇḍu, who are vanished like sparks quenched in the dark? Either they are gone to Yama’s halls, or, if they live, they live without wealth or power. Better that we take Virāṭa’s kine, treasure of kings, and add to our glory.”
Duryodhana, delighted, turned to his brother Duḥśāsana and gave command:
“Call forth our legions, let banners rise,
Let the tramp of the Kurus darken the skies.
Susarman shall ride with his Trigarta force,
While we in two divisions pursue the course.
To Virāṭa’s rich meadows, his kine by the streams,
We march with our chariots, like thunder in dreams.
Let his wealth be scattered, his city dismayed,
For thus shall the power of Matsya be swayed.”
Vaiśampāyana continued
So it was resolved. On the seventh day of the dark fortnight, Susarman and his Trigartas, fierce as forest fires, set out with foot, horse, and chariot, concealing their intent until the herds of Matsya might be seized. And on the eighth day, the Kaurava host itself followed, in dense array, banners streaming, eager to capture by thousands the sleek and auspicious kine of Virāṭa.
When the thirteenth year drew to its close, O king, the vow of concealment kept by the sons of Pāṇḍu stood fulfilled. Dwelling in Virāṭa’s city, wearing many disguises, the mighty heroes had passed unmarked by foes. And when Kīcaka was slain, Virāṭa, lord of the Matsyas, found his hope renewed in the valorous strangers who served him.
But at that time, Susarman, lord of the Trigartas, seizing his chance, raided Virāṭa’s cattle by thousands.
The herdsmen, stricken and harried, fled to the city and, entering the court, bowed low before Virāṭa, who sat enthroned amidst wise counsellors, surrounded by the disguised sons of Pāṇḍu and by princes bright with ornaments.
The cowherd cried aloud:
“O king of the Matsyas, lord of men, disaster comes! The Trigartas, joined with their kinsmen, have seized thy cattle by the hundred and the thousand, defeating us in the field. Rise, O protector! Save thy herds before they are lost!”
Hearing this, Virāṭa sprang to arms. He summoned his host, strong in elephants, steeds, cars, and footmen, and bade each prince and warrior don his armour.
And lo, they armed themselves:
Śatānīka, his brother, wore a coat of adamantine steel blazing with gold.
Madirākṣya, next in birth, put on a plated mail bright as fire, proof against weapons.
The king himself, Virāṭa, shone in armour decked with a hundred suns and a hundred circles, a dazzling corselet studded with eyes of gold.
Sūryadatta, mailed in golden sheen broad as a hundred lotuses, stood resplendent.
Saṅkṣa, Virāṭa’s eldest son, clad in burnished steel with a hundred golden eyes, gleamed like Indra’s bolt.
And so each mighty warrior of Matsya, eager for strife, donned his coat of mail and took up weapons, radiant as gods.
Then, with white steeds yoked and banners streaming, the princes mounted their cars. The standard of Virāṭa, glorious, decked with gold and radiant as sun and moon, was raised upon his chariot. And other chiefs, too, lifted their devices—gleaming, diverse, and proud.
Virāṭa, turning to his brother Śatānīka, spake thus:
“Kanka, Vallava, Tantripāla, and Damagranthi—those men of great energy—will surely fight today. Equip them, therefore, with cars and coats of mail, bright, easy to wear, and proof against weapons. Give them also banners and arms, for I cannot believe such mighty-limbed men are aught but warriors.”
Śatānīka obeyed, and forthwith chariots were made ready for the disguised sons of Prithā:
Yudhiṣṭhira, the royal sage;
Bhīma, of the terrible might;
Nakula, matchless in beauty and skill;
Sahadeva, wise and firm.
Each donned shining armour, bright as fire, easy to bear and strong as thunder. Then they mounted cars yoked with noble steeds, golden standards raised, hearts aflame with battle-joy.
And as Virāṭa’s host set out, it was like a moving sea of steel and gold:
Eight thousand cars, their wheels rumbling like storm;
A thousand elephants, sixty years old, with rent temples, tusks white as moonlight, ichor flowing like rain-clouds, mounted by warriors skilled and fierce;
Sixty thousand horses, neighing and champing, eager for strife.
O Bhārata, that army of Matsya, vast and splendid, moved forward tracing the track of the seized herds. It shone like the heavens filled with stars, or like the ocean heaving with waves, proud with elephants and steeds, banners waving, weapons flashing, and warriors radiant with zeal.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the sun had passed the meridian, O king, the Matsya host, chariots glittering, elephants maddened, and horsemen eager for strife, overtook the Trigartas upon the field. Both armies, longing for victory and roaring like lions, rushed together with terrible energy.
The elephants, urged on with iron hooks and spiked clubs, charged in fury, shaking the earth. Footmen pressed against footmen, horsemen against horsemen, and the clash of cars with cars resounded like thunder. The tumult was dreadful, O Bhārata, like the ancient war between the gods and Asuras.
Dust rose in thick clouds as the hosts closed. The firmament was darkened, birds fell helpless to the earth, blinded by the storm of dust and arrows. The sun vanished behind showers of shafts, and the sky glimmered like a vault of fireflies.
Arrows sped right and left, bowstaves flashing with gold as heroes shifted them swiftly from hand to hand. Heads severed, still decked with earrings, rolled upon the blood-soaked earth. Arms smeared with sandal and garlanded in ornaments, hacked away, lay like great serpents on the field. Trunks of warriors, cut clean as sala trees struck by lightning, strewed the ground.
The red dust was soon drenched with blood. Vultures and beasts of prey circled low, drawn to the slaughter. Warriors swooned and fell, yet neither side gave ground. Kin struck at kin, friends against friends, maddened by the frenzy of battle.
Then shone forth the sons of Matsya:
Śatānīka, with wrath like blazing fire, cut down a hundred foes.
Viśālākṣa, mighty with the bow, overthrew four hundred more.
Together they broke into the heart of the Trigarta ranks, dragging foes by the hair, tearing them with nails, and laying waste to all around them.
And Virāṭa the king, valiant as Indra, with Sūryadatta before him and Madirākṣa guarding his rear, swept through the host. In that mighty charge he shattered five hundred cars, eight hundred steeds, and five great chariot-warriors, moving his golden car with skill and swiftness.
At last the Matsya lord came face to face with Susarman, king of the Trigartas, borne upon a golden chariot. Like two enraged bulls they rushed one at the other, roaring in challenge.
Their bows sang, and arrows fell like rain. Swords, darts, and maces clashed as the two kṣatriyas strove with all their might. Virāṭa pierced Susarman with ten keen shafts, and with five more he wounded each of the Trigarta’s steeds. But Susarman, skilled in weapons and fierce in wrath, pierced the Matsya king with fifty arrows.
And then, O monarch, such was the cloud of dust raised by their warriors that friend could not be known from foe. The armies mingled in confusion, locked in the tempest of war.