novelraw Arc 2 - Go-Harana Parva Chapter 6 - Arjuna Fights the Kuru Army II
Arc 2 - Go-Harana Parva Chapter 6 - Arjuna Fights the Kuru Army II
Vaiśampāyana said:
And the ranks of the Kurus, fierce bowmen, stood like clouds massed in the rainy season, drifting beneath the wind. Behind them were steeds ridden by terrible warriors, and elephants clad in shining armour, goaded on with iron hooks.
But, O king, not only mortals gathered to behold that great encounter. Mounted upon his radiant car, Śakra, lord of the celestials, arrived, attended by the hosts of gods—the Viśvas and Maruts. The firmament became crowded with gods, Yakṣas, Gandharvas, and Nāgas, resplendent as the night sky thick with constellations.
The heavens shone with dazzling cars,
bejewelled, adorned with banners bright.
Like meteors streaming across the void,
they blazed with unearthly light.
The celestials came each upon his own chariot, eager to witness how weapons divine would act in mortal combat, and to behold the mighty duel when Bhīṣma and Arjuna should meet. The car of the wielder of the thunderbolt, adorned with a roof upheld by a hundred thousand golden pillars and a central column of gems, blazed in the clear sky.
And behold—three and thirty gods appeared with Indra at their head, and with them Gandharvas, Rākṣasas, Nāgas, Pitṛs, and great Ṛṣis of ascetic might. Upon the car of Vasava shone the effulgent forms of ancient kings—Vasumān, Valākṣa, Supratardana, Aṣṭaka, Śivi, Yayāti, Nahusha, Gaya, Manu, Puru, Raghu, Bhānu, Kṛśāśva, Sagara, and Nala—luminaries of old, come to witness the battle of their line.
On every side the gods arrayed,
Agni, Īśa, Soma, and Varuṇa;
Prajāpati, Dhātṛ, Vidhātṛ,
Kubera, Yama, and lordly Tumburu.
Alamvusha, Ugrasena too,
the hosts of Siddhas, sages high—
all gathered in splendour to behold
the clash of Partha and the Kurus.
The air grew redolent with the fragrance of celestial garlands, as though spring itself had descended. Crimson umbrellas, robes, and flower-wreaths of the gods gleamed above their heads. The dust of earth vanished before their effulgence, and the breeze blew cool, perfumed with divine scents.
The sky became a blazing sea
of jewelled cars and heavenly flame.
The foremost of the celestials shone,
as though the worlds had gathered there.
And in their midst, Indra himself, garlanded with lotuses and lilies, stood radiant on his car. Surrounded by gods and clothed in splendour, he gazed steadfastly upon his son, the mighty Dhanañjaya. Yet though his eyes dwelt long, O king, the lord of the thunderbolt was not satiated with that sight.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Beholding the Kurus arrayed in battle, Pārtha turned to the prince of Matsya and said:
“Drive swiftly to where Gautama’s son Kr̥pa stands, by the southern flank of the car whose banner bears the golden altar.”
Hearing these words, Uttara urged on the silvery steeds, decked in golden mail. Skilled in horsemanship, he wheeled and circled, bewildering the Kuru ranks with sudden turns and winding paths. At last he brought the chariot before Kr̥pa.
Then Arjuna, announcing his name aloud, lifted the conch Devadatta.
Blown by Jishnu’s mighty breath,
its roar split mountains like the bolt of Indra.
Heaven echoed, earth quaked,
and the Kurus marvelled in awe.
Unable to endure that sound, Kr̥pa, son of Śaradvat, took up his own conch and blew it vehemently, filling the three worlds with its blast. He seized his great bow and twanged it, and the two warriors, radiant as twin suns, stood opposed like autumn clouds preparing to storm.
Kr̥pa pierced Arjuna with ten swift shafts, keen as death; but Pārtha, drawing the Gāṇḍīva, loosed countless arrows that seemed flames of fire. Kr̥pa, nimble and skilled, shattered them into fragments before they struck. Then, wrathful, Arjuna rained arrows like a monsoon, enveloping Kr̥pa in a storm of steel.
Arrows fell thick as fire’s sparks,
covering sky and earth alike.
Kr̥pa, scorched, yet roared aloud,
and loosed ten thousand shafts in fury.
But Arjuna, seizing the moment, struck down Kr̥pa’s four steeds with four straight arrows, piercing them through their vital parts. Reeling, Kr̥pa was cast off balance. Out of respect for his elder, Arjuna ceased his shafts till Gautama regained his stand.
Again Kr̥pa pierced him; again Arjuna cut off bow after bow as fast as they were taken up. At last Kr̥pa hurled a golden javelin, blazing like a meteor. With ten arrows Arjuna shattered it mid-air, and the weapon fell in fragments.
Then Pārtha, wrathful, sped thirteen shafts:
One severed the yoke,
four struck the steeds,
a sixth cut the driver’s head away.
Three pierced the triple pole,
two clove the wheels,
the twelfth struck down the flagstaff high;
and with the thirteenth, smiling as Indra himself,
he pierced Kr̥pa’s breast.
With bow broken, car shattered, steeds and driver slain, Kr̥pa leapt to the ground and seized a mace. He hurled it with terrible force, but Arjuna’s arrows turned it back upon its course.
Then the warriors of Kr̥pa’s division, rushing from all sides, covered Arjuna with showers of shafts. Uttara, with skill, guided the steeds in the circling Yamaka manoeuvre, baffling the attackers. At last, those Kurus rescued Kr̥pa from the field and bore him away, humbled, from the presence of Dhanañjaya.
Vaiśampāyana said:
After Kr̥pa had been borne from the field, Droṇa of the red steeds advanced. Bow already strung, arrow set to string, he rushed towards Arjuna, lord of the white coursers. Beholding his revered teacher, radiant upon his golden car, Arjuna said unto Uttara:
“Blessed prince, guide me towards him whose banner bears the golden altar shining like fire, whose car is drawn by noble red steeds of coral hue and coppery face. This is Droṇa, the foremost of warriors and sages, long-armed and mighty, master of the four Vedas and the science of every weapon, endowed with forgiveness, self-restraint, and truth. He is my preceptor, and yet today, for dharma’s sake, I must meet him in battle. Carry me before him.”
Uttara, with hands firm upon the reins, urged on the white steeds, and Droṇa, like a furious tusker rushing upon a rival, drove to meet his disciple.
The preceptor raised his conch, whose sound was as a hundred trumpets; the sea-like host of the Kurus trembled at the blast. Arjuna too saluted, raising Devadatta, and his blare was like a mountain riven by Indra’s bolt. Thus master and pupil, each radiant as a sun, came face to face.
Like clouds of autumn heavy with rain,
they darkened the sky with shafts.
Like elephants clashing with uplifted tusks,
they struck, neither yielding ground.
Arjuna bent in reverence and said with sweet humility:
“O sinless one, we have endured exile and now come to avenge our wrongs. Yet know, I will not strike thee unless thou strikest me first. This is my vow.”
Thus addressed, Droṇa loosed twenty arrows, but swift-handed Arjuna cut them before they touched his flesh. Then the master displayed his unmatched skill, covering Arjuna’s car with a thousand shafts. Enraged, he pierced the white steeds with keen points, and the battle raged like storm and fire.
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The two, each possessed of boundless energy, discharged clouds of weapons that bewildered the gathered kings. Warriors on every side cried in wonder:
“Well done! Well done! Who but Arjuna could meet Droṇa in equal fight? Truly the duty of the kṣatriya is stern, that disciple should lift arms against his own teacher!”
The sky darkened with their arrows, sun’s light was shrouded, and the air rang with the splitting sound of reeds on fire. Droṇa’s shafts flew like flocks of autumn cranes, and Arjuna’s clouded the heavens like locusts in flight. The ground was strewn with severed arms, mail glittering with gold, fallen banners, and shattered cars, until the Kuru host quailed in fear.
Arrow clashed against arrow in mid-air,
bows bent like circles of fire,
thunder of string and shaft resounded,
as if gods and asuras strove anew.
Then Partha, drawing the Gāṇḍīva with one hand and then the other, loosed arrows so ceaselessly that no gap was seen between their flight. Hundreds, thousands fell, shrouding Droṇa’s car, till the onlookers cried “Alas! Alas!” Maghavat himself, with Gandharvas and Apsaras attending, applauded Arjuna’s mastery.
Aśvatthāman, beholding his father pressed hard, though wrathful, could not but marvel at Pārtha’s speed. Yet in anger he rushed, loosing a downpour of arrows like rain from a storm-cloud. Arjuna, turning his steeds towards Droṇa’s son, granted his teacher release. Droṇa, pierced and weary, his mail and banner gone, withdrew from the field upon swift horses, leaving the encounter unresolved.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then, O mighty king, the son of Droṇa rushed upon Arjuna like a tempest, loosing arrows as a rain-charged cloud pours torrents upon the earth. Pārtha met him with shafts innumerable, and the encounter of those two warriors resembled the strife of gods and Dānavas.
Arrows fell thick as serpent-fangs,
shafts blazed like tongues of fire.
The heavens grew dark, the sun was veiled,
the air itself grew still.
Each strike rang out like the crackle of burning reeds. Arjuna’s shafts smote the steeds of Aśvatthāman till they faltered, bewildered, unable to find their course. Seizing that moment, Droṇa’s son, skill unmatched, with a horse-shoe-tipped arrow cut the bowstring of the Gāṇḍīva.
At that feat the heavens shook. The celestials and kings cried aloud: “Well done! Well done!” Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Karṇa, and Kr̥pa raised their voices in praise, marvelling at the prowess of the preceptor’s son.
Then, drawing his bow, Aśvatthāman pierced Arjuna in the breast with shafts winged with the feathers of the kanka-bird. But Arjuna only laughed. With sweat like the crescent moon glistening on his brow, he swiftly strung anew the Gāṇḍīva. Then advancing like a tusked elephant inflamed with fury, he bore down upon his foe.
The earth trembled, the sky rang,
spectators’ hair stood on end.
Two lions, two mighty tuskers,
strove with arrows sharp as fire.
Arrow clashed on arrow, fire met fire, yet Arjuna’s inexhaustible quivers gave him the strength of a mountain. Aśvatthāman’s shafts, spent in ceaseless flight, grew scarce, and the son of Pāṇḍu pressed him hard.
Then Karṇa, eager for the fray, bent his mighty bow till it groaned like thunder. At the twang of that string, men cried aloud in fear: “Oh! Alas!” Turning his gaze, Arjuna beheld the son of Rādhā. At once his wrath was kindled. His eyes rolled red with anger, his breath came like storm.
Inflamed he stared, like a lion roused,
at the tiger who dared to challenge him.
The bow in Karṇa’s hands sang loud,
and the Gāṇḍīva’s master rushed to meet him.
Leaving Droṇa’s son, Pārtha sped forward, eager for single combat. The Kuru warriors loosed countless shafts to shield Karṇa, but Dhanañjaya, the invincible, heeded them not. His gaze fixed only upon Rādhā’s son, he spoke in wrathful tones, ready to hurl his might upon that long-cherished foe.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Pārtha, inflamed with wrath, spake unto Karṇa in the hearing of all the Kuru chiefs:
“The time is come, O son of Rādhā,
to make good thy boast in the hall of dice,
that none was equal to thee in fight.
Here, in the sight of kings, let thy words be proven.
Thou who didst watch Draupadī outraged,
bound then by dharma I held my hand.
Today that wrath returns like fire long smouldered,
and thou shalt reap its fruit in battle.
Twelve years we roamed the forest,
bearing grief and insult deep.
Now stand before me, wicked-hearted,
and taste the fruit of vengeance ripe.”
Karna replied with bitter scorn:
“O Pārtha, thy tongue is swifter than thy hand.
Once thou didst forebear not from dharma,
but from weakness.
If thy strength matches thy speech,
show it now in battle.
Bound still art thou by thy vow,
weakened by forest-dwelling and fasts.
What availeth thee to face me here?
Though Indra himself aid thee,
my heart feels no fear.”
At this Arjuna laughed aloud and answered:
“Once already, O boastful one,
thou didst flee the field from me,
living only because thy brother fell instead.
What hero, beholding his kin struck down,
would turn his back and vaunt among men?
Only thou, O Karṇa.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having spoken thus, Vibhatsu loosed a storm of shafts from the Gāṇḍīva, arrows keen enough to cleave iron mail. Karṇa met the volley with a cloud of his own arrows, heavy as a monsoon, piercing steeds, drivers, and armour.
Then Arjuna, with a straight shaft, cut the cords of Karṇa’s quiver. And when the Sūta’s son drew another arrow, he pierced Arjuna’s hand, making him slacken his bow. Swiftly, however, the Pāṇḍava struck again, cutting Karṇa’s bow into fragments.
Darts flew blazing like meteors,
but Arjuna shattered them in mid-flight.
Crowds of Karṇa’s followers rushed,
but all fell to the lord of the Gāṇḍīva.
Then Vibhatsu struck down Karṇa’s steeds, piercing them to the heart; lifeless they dropped to earth. Next he chose a blazing shaft, and with it pierced Karṇa’s breast. The arrow rent his mail and sank deep within his body.
Darkness veiled Karṇa’s sight, his senses failed. Reeling, he fled northward, staggering from the field, his pride broken, his body aflame with pain.
And then, O king, Arjuna and the prince of Matsya, beholding him depart in flight, heaped contumely upon the son of Rādhā, as the Kuru army groaned in shame.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having vanquished the son of Vikartana, Arjuna turned to the prince of Matsya and spoke with calm yet blazing resolve:
“Guide me now, O Uttara,
to where the golden palmyra gleams upon a banner.
There stands our grandsire Bhīṣma,
son of Śāntanu, lion among men,
desirous of crossing arrows with me.”
But the youthful charioteer, his body pierced and his mind reeling, spake falteringly:
“O hero, my strength faileth. The cries of elephants, the blare of conchs, the thunder of thy bow, Gandīva— they rend my senses asunder. The stench of blood and flesh confounds my heart; the field swims before my eyes. I cannot hold whip nor rein— my spirit droops, my courage wavers.”
Then spoke Pārtha, with gentle firmness:
“Do not despair, O prince. Great deeds hast thou already wrought this day.
Born in a royal line, thou must not give way to faintness.
Stay upon my car,only grasp the reins with steadfast hands.
The burden of the fight is mine. Hold fast while I scatter the Kurus.”
Thus heartened, Uttara guided the steeds once more, and the son of Kuntī spake on, his voice like thunder before a storm:
“Now shalt thou behold, O prince,
the fury of Gandīva—
flashes of fire amid the clouds of war.
Today I shall cut the bow of Bhīṣma,
and the Kurus shall cry,
‘By which hand doth Arjuna shoot—
right or left?’
A river of blood shall I cause to flow,
with cars for whirlpools,
elephants for its crocodiles,
and the heads of warriors for its flowers.
The Kuru forest shall burn beneath my shafts,
its banners as trees,
its foot-soldiers as undergrowth,
its car-warriors as beasts of prey.
Once, at the gods’ behest,
I smote the Paulomas and Kālakhañjas,
sixty thousand archers in Hiranyapura,
and they fell like reeds before the gale.
From Rudra I won the Raudra,
from Varuṇa the Varuṇa,
from Agni the Agneya,
from Vāyu the Vāyavya,
and from Śakra the thunderbolt itself.
Armed with these, today I shall uproot
the Dhārtarāṣṭra-forest,
though lions guard it on every side.”
Thus assured, Uttara urged the steeds into the thick of Bhīṣma’s host. And the grandsire, seeing Arjuna advance, raised his bow and with fierce delight prepared to meet him.
Then Jishnu, swift as thought, cut down Bhīṣma’s tall standard by a single arrow, and it fell blazing like a tree struck by lightning. At once the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra—Duḥśāsana, Vikarna, Duḥsaha, and Vivingsati—rushed forth, adorned with garlands and armour, eager to shield their elder.
Duḥśāsana struck Uttara with a crescent arrow, and another he drove into Arjuna’s breast. But the son of Pṛthā, unfaltering, cut his foe’s bow in twain, then pierced him with five swift shafts. Afflicted, Duḥśāsana turned and fled the field.
Then Vikarna loosed straight shafts upon Pārtha, but the latter in a breath pierced his forehead; and Vikarna fell from his car like a tree hewn at the root.
Duḥsaha and Vivingsati pressed in together, showering arrows like rain. Yet Arjuna, serene as a mountain peak, struck both down, slaying their steeds and scattering their array. Broken and mangled, the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra were borne away by their comrades in shame.
Then the diadem-decked hero, unvanquished, bent Gandīva once more and from all sides his arrows sped forth, covering the field like a tempest clouding the sky. The Kuru host reeled, the cries of men and beasts mingled, and the battle blazed with unearthly splendour.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then, O king, the great car-warriors of the Kurus, uniting as one body, assailed Arjuna from every side with all their might. But the son of Pṛthā, that hero of immeasurable soul, covered them with an unending storm of arrows, even as mountain peaks vanish behind the thick veils of autumnal mist.
The clash of conchs, the trumpeting of elephants, and the neighing of steeds mingled into a tumult vast as the ocean in storm. Yet through that din resounded the dreadful music of Gandīva’s twang, echoing like thunderbolts rending the sky.
Arjuna’s shafts, swift as lightning, penetrated the hides of elephants, the flanks of horses, and the steel and copper coats of mail that clothed the warriors of the Kauravas. Swiftly as the autumn sun blazes at mid-day, so swiftly shone Pārtha in that field, sending forth his arrows in a ceaseless torrent.
Affrighted, many leapt from their cars, abandoning steeds and weapons, while foot-soldiers fled in terror across the plain. The clang of arrows cleaving armour rang out like iron singing upon the anvil. And soon the ground was strewn with corpses of men and beasts, mangled by shafts keen as serpents’ fangs. Severed heads with turbans, earrings, and gold garlands rolled upon the earth; arms still grasping bows lay scattered; hands decked with ornaments glimmered amid the dust and gore.
It seemed as though a storm of stones had fallen from the sky,
for ceaselessly heads were hewn and hurled to the ground.
And Pārtha, fierce as Death at the end of the age,
danced upon the field with Gandīva’s song as his drumbeat.
So terrible was his onslaught that even in the presence of Duryodhana, the Kurus faltered, their courage broken, their hearts chilled by the blaze of Arjuna’s wrath.
Then, O king, the son of Pāṇḍu fashioned upon that battlefield a river dreadful to behold, a river of blood such as Time itself brings forth at the dissolution of the worlds.
Its waves were crimson billows, its mire the fat and marrow of men, its driftwood the dishevelled hair of the dying, its rafts the broken chariots,its alligators elephants groaning in their last agony. Weapons became its crocodiles, arrows its eddies, steeds its tortoises. Pearl-strings shimmered upon its ripples, and ornaments glistened like bubbles upon its face.
Rakṣasas feasted along its banks,and beasts of prey howled in delight. Conchs, drums, and wails of warriors were the music of its flood.
And the mighty car-warriors, like islands in mid-current, were swallowed one by one in its inexorable flow.
Such was the river of death born of Arjuna’s fury— terrible, unfordable, resounding with shrieks and roars, a river no man could cross.
And so swift was Savyasāchin’s hand that none among the spectators could discern the instant between his grasping of an arrow, fixing it upon Gandīva’s string, and letting it fly. To their eyes it was as though arrows poured of themselves from the sky, ceaseless, countless, irresistible.