novelraw Arc 1 - Saṃjaya-yāna Parava Chapter 5 - Gathering of Allies
Arc 1 - Saṃjaya-yāna Parava Chapter 5 - Gathering of Allies
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then came Yuyudhāna Sātyaki, lion of the Sātvatas, friend and disciple of Arjuna, radiant as the rising sun. He arrived before Yudhiṣṭhira with a vast and shining host—foot-soldiers in serried ranks, war-elephants bearing bells and banners, swift steeds yoked to golden chariots, and heroes armed with every weapon known to war.
Spears gleamed like the tongues of flame; axes and maces flashed like lightning. Lances, clubs, javelins, bows, and arrows of tempered steel filled the field with a sheen as of storm clouds streaked by fire. That army—dense, thunderous, and splendid—seemed like a mass of dark monsoon clouds lit with the lightning of their mail. Numbering a full Akṣauhiṇī, it merged into the Pāṇḍava forces as a river melts into the sea.
After him came Dṛṣṭaketu, lord of the Cedis, with an Akṣauhiṇī of fierce warriors; and Jayatsena, king of Magadha, with another mighty host. The king of the Pāṇḍyas, dwelling on the ocean’s rim, joined the sons of Pāṇḍu with troops drawn from the southern lands—archers and swordsmen of surpassing skill.
And there came also Drupada, lord of the Pañcālas, with his valiant sons, his army glittering with countless standards. Virāṭa, king of the Matsyas, marched forth as well, bringing hill tribes and mountain clans under his command.
Thus from every direction, the great kings of the earth poured in to aid Dharmarāja Yudhiṣṭhira, until seven Akṣauhiṇīs of loyal warriors stood arrayed beneath his banner, their hearts aflame for the war of righteousness. The earth trembled under their tread, and the sound of their conches and drums was like the voice of heaven announcing destiny.
Meanwhile, on the side of the Kurus, the mighty Bhagadatta, aged but invincible, came to gladden the heart of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son. His army, filled with Cīnas and Kirātas, shone like a forest of golden Karnikāra blossoms.
And there came Bhurisravas and Śalya, each with an Akṣauhiṇī of warriors, fierce and untiring. Kṛtavarman, son of Hṛdika, brought the Bhojas, Andhakas, and Kukuras—heroes wearing garlands of bright flowers, their armour shining like molten gold.
Jayadratha, king of Sindhu and Sauvīra, entered with his host, their march like the surge of a storming sea. The hills themselves seemed to quake beneath their feet.
Sudakṣiṇa, lord of the Kāmbojas, arrived with Yavanas and Śakas, his dark host spreading over the plains like a swarm of locusts. From the southern land came Nīla of Mahishmatī, with soldiers bearing weapons of wondrous shape; and the twin kings of Avanti, fierce and proud, brought two vast divisions.
The five heroic brothers of Kekaya—red-crested, impetuous, and roaring for battle—joined Duryodhana with an Akṣauhiṇī of troops, filling his heart with joy. From other distant realms three more divisions of warriors came, swelling the Kaurava host to a total of eleven Akṣauhiṇīs, bristling with banners, elephants, and steeds.
The whole land around Hastināpura became a sea of men and weapons. The city could not contain them—the roads, fields, and plains overflowed.
From the five rivers to Kurujāṅgala, from the wild woods of Rohitaka to Ahicchatra and Kalakūṭa, from the banks of the Ganga and Yamunā to Varana and Vatadhāna—every field was filled with tents, horses, chariots, and elephants.
The earth groaned beneath the weight of men and armour; the air was thick with the dust of marching hosts; the rivers ran sluggish under the press of wheels and hooves.
And when the priests sent by Drupada, king of the Pañcālas, arrived at the Kuru camp, they beheld that mighty array—gleaming like a living mountain range, alive with the roar of conches and the sound of destiny approaching.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the priest of Drupada, learned in the Vedas and versed in the laws of kings, arrived at the Kaurava court, he was received with honour by Dhṛtarāṣṭra, by Bhīṣma, and by Vidura, each offering him the due courtesies of a Brahmana guest.
Having inquired first of the welfare of the Kauravas, and having conveyed the greetings and well-being of the sons of Pāṇḍu, the priest stood tall in the midst of that vast assembly of kings and heroes. His voice, steady and resonant with righteousness, echoed through the hall like the chant of a Vedic seer.
The Priest of Drupada said:
“Ye kings of the Kuru line, I bow to you all. The eternal duties of rulers—rājadharma—are well known to you, yet it is meet that I recall them, for words of truth lose no worth by repetition.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Pāṇḍu were both born of one father. Therefore, their sons stand equal in right to the heritage of the Bharatas. The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra have enjoyed the wealth of their sire—why then were the sons of Pāṇḍu denied their just portion?
You know how, in former days, the sons of Pāṇḍu were robbed of their inheritance and driven from the kingdom by deceit. You know, too, how the princes of Kuru, led by Duryodhana and guided by Śakuni, sought again and again to destroy them by treachery and murder. Yet Fate, which guards the righteous, preserved them from every snare.
When at last those high-souled princes, by their own valour, carved out a realm, they were again deprived of it through fraud—fraud sanctioned by Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s blindness of heart. In the council hall, before all the Kuru elders, they and their queen, the virtuous Draupadī, were subjected to cruel indignities.
Banished to the wilderness for thirteen years, they endured exile and hardship with patience and truth. In the thirteenth year, they lived in disguise, suffering wrongs that might break the spirit of lesser men, yet without once abandoning righteousness.
Ye descendants of Bharata, behold their forbearance! Behold, too, the folly of Duryodhana, whose envy kindles ruin for all the world.
But now, these sons of Pāṇḍu seek not vengeance—they ask only for peace and for the restoration of their rightful share. They would rather rule a small portion righteously than possess the earth through sin.
If Duryodhana imagines there is reason for war, that reason is born of pride, not justice. Consider, O Kurus, the might arrayed against him: seven Akṣauhiṇīs stand under Yudhiṣṭhira’s banner, eager for battle and guided by virtue.
There are also warriors who by themselves are as strong as many armies—Sātyaki, the lion of the Sātvatas; Bhīma, whose wrath is a storm; the twin sons of Mādrī, swift as wind and fearless as fire. And above them all towers Dhanañjaya Arjuna, wielder of celestial weapons, whose single strength outweighs countless hosts.
Beside him stands Keśava, Kṛṣṇa Vāsudeva, the soul of the universe—he whose wisdom equals his might, whose word is truth itself.
Who, then, would wage war knowing that these two—Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna—stand united in purpose? Against such a union, even the gods tremble.
Therefore, O sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, act now in righteousness. Restore what is due. Let not pride and delusion close your eyes to dharma. The moment of choice is upon you—choose peace while it may yet be won.”
The words of the priest rang like a clarion of truth through the Kaurava court. The elders lowered their eyes; the heroes sat silent, each pondering the weight of his heart. But Duryodhana’s face was dark and proud, and his silence foretold the storm to come.
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Then, having heard the words of Drupada’s priest — words keen as a blade yet fragrant with dharma — the grandsire Bhīṣma, aged in wisdom and radiant as the midday sun, rose from his seat. Folding his hands, he addressed the assembly, his voice calm like a river flowing through stone.
“Blessed are the sons of Pāṇḍu,” said he, “for they dwell under the gaze of Keśava.
Blessed that they seek virtue even when wronged, and peace though they wield the power of storms.
Fortunate are we, if peace may yet bloom between cousins born of one root,
For from such peace arises the fragrance of dharma over the earth.”
He turned to the priest, his eyes glimmering with the light of truth.
“Brahmana, thy words are piercing, for truth is ever sharp, yet healing.
The Pāṇḍavas have endured the weight of injustice — in palace and in forest alike.
By birth and by law they deserve their father’s inheritance.
Who can deny this? Who can withstand Arjuna in battle?
When the wielder of Gāṇḍīva stands enraged,
He is the fire at world’s end — before whom even Indra trembles.
I tell you truly: none of the three worlds could endure him when he draws his bow.”
But even as Bhīṣma spoke thus for peace, Karna, son of a charioteer and friend to Duryodhana, rose in anger. His eyes burned like twin embers, and his voice struck the hall like iron upon stone.
“Enough of these praises!” cried Karna. “The world knows these tales already.
Why repeat them as if they were new?
“Long ago, by the hand of Śakuni,
Duryodhana fairly won the game of dice.
Yudhiṣṭhira staked all, and lost — and as agreed, went to the forest.
Now, trusting in the Matsyas and the Panchālas,
He seeks to snatch back what was lost by his folly.
“Know this: Duryodhana fears none — not gods, not men, not fate.
He will not yield even a needle’s breadth of land through fear.
But if justice commands, he would give the earth itself — even to his foe.
“Let the sons of Pāṇḍu complete the term decreed,
And then live peacefully as dependants of my king.
But if they abandon virtue for war,
They shall find their graves beneath the banners of Kuru.
Mark my words when their armies fall like forests before the storm.”
The hall trembled with the echo of Karna’s wrath. But Bhīṣma’s voice, firm as thunder, rose again and silenced the gathering.
“Cease, O son of Rādhā!” thundered he.
“Boast not where wisdom sits enthroned!
Hast thou forgotten that day when Arjuna, alone,
Overpowered six mighty warriors — thyself among them?
“If we reject this Brahmana’s counsel,
If we spurn the path of peace,
Then, when battle’s fire is kindled,
Arjuna’s arrows shall consume us all.
This I know as surely as I know the breath in my chest.”
The blind king Dhṛtarāṣṭra, hearing the rising storm of words, lifted his trembling hand. His voice, aged and sorrowful, carried both fear and affection.
“Peace, peace, O Bhīṣma! Thy words are wise, and born of love for all.
And thou, O Karna, restrain thy anger.
Let not discord spring among us like grass in fire.
“What the son of Śāntanu has spoken is best —
For us, for the sons of Pāṇḍu, and for the world itself.
I shall ponder deeply, and then send Sañjaya as my envoy
To speak in righteousness with Yudhiṣṭhira.
Therefore, O Brahmana of Drupada,
Wait not longer. Return to thy lords and tell them this:
That Dhṛtarāṣṭra of the Kurus will send his messenger soon.”
Thus honoured and dismissed with gifts and courtesies,
The priest of Drupada bowed low and departed.
Through the gate of Hastināpura he passed —
Leaving behind him the scent of truth and the shadow of impending war.
And when he was gone, the blind monarch summoned Sañjaya,
His faithful counsellor and friend —
That wise seer whose eyes could see both far and near.
To him the king of the Kurus spoke slowly,
Like one speaking beneath the weight of destiny.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the blind monarch of the Kurus, sat in his chamber heavy with incense and silence. Turning toward Sañjaya, his trusted counsellor, he spoke in a voice wearied by guilt and foreboding. “Men say, O Sañjaya, that the sons of Pāṇḍu have reached Upaplavya, their banners bright again under heaven’s gaze. Go thou swiftly to them, and greet Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma, in my name. Say unto him, ‘By good fortune hast thou emerged from the wilderness and reached this fair city. Are ye all well, O princes, after that long exile of hardship—ye who were undeserving of such sorrow?’”
He paused, and the faint rustle of the wind through the lattices filled the stillness of the hall. “Yet,” said the king, “I know well they will not easily be appeased. Though wronged and driven to the forest, they are righteous still. I have never known untruth in them; their virtues I have tested and found without blemish. All their glory they won by their own valour, yet they were ever dutiful to me and reverent toward their elders.
‘They conquer hunger and desire,
They master cold, fatigue, and wrath;
Steadfast in dharma and in truth,
They walk as fire moves—pure and bright.’
Their friendship, O Sañjaya, never fades with time. They honour each man according to his worth, and they give freely to the worthy. None among the Kurus bears hatred toward them—save my reckless son Duryodhana and the darker-souled Karna, whose envy burns like a hidden ember. These two, blinded by pride, sharpen the fury of those high-souled ones they have so long wronged.”
The blind king turned his unseeing eyes toward the open court, as if listening for omens. “Childish indeed,” he murmured, “is Duryodhana’s thought—to rob the sons of Pāṇḍu of their birthright while they yet live. It is wisdom, not weakness, to yield what is just before war devours the earth.
‘For where Arjuna rides with Keśava,
There blazes a sun no cloud can dim;
Where Bhīma stands, roaring like the sea,
No fortress nor army shall endure.’
The wielder of the Gāṇḍīva, Arjuna, is a storm among men. Alone he conquered the northern Kurus and humbled the Dravidas. He fed Agni with the forest of Khaṇḍava, defying even Indra. Who can stand before him when his arrows darken the heavens like flocks of serpents? And Bhīma—lion-hearted, elephant-strong—whose wrath is fire and whose laughter is thunder—he alone could shatter a mountain with his mace. None, not even the lord of heaven, can withstand him in fury. Beside them stand Nakula and Sahadeva, swift as hawks, trained by Arjuna himself, striking down their foes like falcons among flocks of smaller birds.
‘When these five brothers rise to battle,
Their chariots blaze with the light of destiny;
The gods themselves stand silent and watch,
For righteousness rides before them.’
Dhṛtarāṣṭra continued, his voice trembling as he spoke of those arrayed for the cause of virtue. “With them is Dṛṣṭadyumna, born for war and bound to the sons of Pāṇḍu as though of their own blood. Virāṭa, their old protector, stands with his sons beside them. The five princes of Kekaya, eager to regain their throne, follow Yudhiṣṭhira’s banner. From every quarter, kings and warriors pour forth—hill chiefs, Mleccha tribes, aged seers, and young heroes—all gathered under the white conch of Pāṇḍu’s sons. Even mighty Pāṇḍya, whose prowess rivals Indra’s, marches in their cause, and Sātyaki, disciple of Arjuna and friend of Keśava, shines among them like a second fire. Around him gather the Chedis and the Karūṣas, their armies swelling like the tide.”
A shadow crossed the king’s face as he remembered the day of Śiśupāla’s fall. “He, whom all men deemed invincible, was slain by Keśava in an instant—like a golden tree uprooted by a storm. What then of my sons, when the same Keśava now guides the sons of Pāṇḍu?” He clasped his trembling hands.
“O Sañjaya, my heart trembles with fear
When I hear that the two Krishnas sit upon one car.
If Duryodhana turns from folly, peace may yet live;
But if he wars with them,
Then as lightning rends the mountain,
So shall the Kurus be consumed.”
His voice softened, haunted by reverence and dread. “Arjuna is as Indra incarnate; Kṛṣṇa, the eternal Viṣṇu himself, moves beside him. And Yudhiṣṭhira—gentle, steadfast, ever pure—though wronged, has not yielded to wrath. Yet, O Sañjaya, it is his wrath that I fear most. The anger of a righteous man is fire hidden in sacred ashes—it burns not swiftly, but when it kindles, it consumes the world.
‘His vows are firm, his soul untarnished,
His tapas bright as a mountain flame;
Beware, O son of Gāvalgana,
The wrath of one whose strength is dharma.’
Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, folding his hands, spoke solemnly. “Go, O Sañjaya. Mount the swiftest car and journey to Upaplavya, where the sons of Kunti and the kings of the Pāñcālas have encamped. Greet Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers in my name, and speak to them with affection and reverence. Meet also Kṛṣṇa, lord of the universe and friend of all beings, and tell him that Dhṛtarāṣṭra desires peace with the sons of Pandu. Whatever he deems right, Yudhiṣṭhira will surely obey, for Keśava is dear to them as life itself.
Ask after the welfare of Sātyaki, of Virāṭa, and of the five sons of Draupadī. Salute all the kings of the Śṛñjayas and the Pāñcālas. And, O Sañjaya, speak whatever thou findest just and wholesome—words that may preserve the race of Bharata from ruin.
‘Speak gently, yet speak truth;
Counsel peace, yet provoke not pride;
Let thy words be as bridges between hearts,
Not sparks that set the forest aflame.’
Thus, with trembling heart and dark foreboding, the old king sent forth his faithful messenger, while the wind that whispered through Hastināpura carried with it the scent of impending war.