novelraw Arc 3 - Sanat-Sujata Parva Chapter 4 - Arjuna’s Oath and Kṛṣṇa’s Measure
Arc 3 - Sanat-Sujata Parva Chapter 4 - Arjuna’s Oath and Kṛṣṇa’s Measure
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, with princes and elders ranged like a ridge of mail about him, addressed Sañjaya before the gathered kings: “Say, in the hearing of my son, what the illustrious Dhanañjaya—unfailing in might, leader of warriors, scourge of the wicked—has spoken.”
Sañjaya said:
“Let Duryodhana listen,” quoth I, “to the words of Kiritin, fierce for battle, spoken with Yudhiṣṭhira’s sanction, in Keśava’s presence. Fearless in the strength of his arms, the heroic son of Pāṇḍu said this—bidding that it be proclaimed in the hearing of all the Kurus, and in the hearing of that Sūta’s son of cruel tongue and numbered days, and in the hearing of every king come to fight the Pāṇḍavas.”
The hall grew still; the watchers burned;
Like gods to thunder’s chief they turned.
For grave as cloud and sharp as flame,
Kiritin’s words like war-drums came.
He said:
‘If Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son will not restore the realm to Yudhiṣṭhira of the Ajamīḍha line, then know—some sin, not yet reaped, clings to the Kauravas; what else, when they would wage war with Bhīmasena and Arjuna, with the Aśvins, with Vāsudeva and Sini’s lion-born, with invincible Dhṛṣṭadyumna and Śikhaṇḍin, and with Yudhiṣṭhira who could, by a mere wish ill-spoken, sear heaven and earth? If they desire battle with these, our objects are accomplished. Seek not peace for us; if you will, choose war.
That forest-bed of sorrow where our king lay long in exile—let a harsher bed than that be Duryodhana’s bier, his last lying-place upon the bloodied earth. Win back to Dharma those men whom the unjust Duryodhana ruled—bring them to Pāṇḍu’s son, modest, wise, ascetic, self-restrained, valiant, whose might is yoked to virtue. Though deceived a hundred ways, our king—truth-speaking and restrained—has forgiven, has endured. But when he who has ruled his soul will at last let loose the wrath of many years, then shall the Kaurava repent his war.
As summer fire devours the brittle grass around, so shall Yudhiṣṭhira, by the mere blaze of his glance, consume the Dhṛtarāṣṭra host. When Duryodhana sees Bhīmasena—wrath-incarnate, mace in hand, vomiting the venom of battle—then shall he repent. When Bhīma, helm-to-front, mail-clad, scarcely endurable even to his own, hurls down heroes and threshes ranks like Yama himself—then shall the vainglorious one recall these words.
When elephants, mountain-peaked, lie cloven by Bhīma and their heads stream blood like broken jars—then shall he repent. When that lion among men falls upon the Kauravas and slaughters them as a jungle king a herd of kine—then shall he repent.
When, alone on his car, the grinder of hosts shatters cohorts of chariots, reaps whole fields of infantry, snares iron-flanked elephants as with cables and hews down the Dhṛtarāṣṭra mass like a woodman’s axe a thorny forest—then shall he repent. When their lines blaze up like straw-roofed hamlets in a wind-driven fire, like ripe grain blasted by lightning; when captains fall and men break, backs turned, scattering in fear, scorched by Bhīma’s weapons—then shall he repent.
When Nakula, wonder-working with the bow, lacerates Duryodhana’s chariot-lords by the hundred—then shall he repent. Accustomed to soft beds and city ease, when Nakula remembers his forest-dust and spits the serpent-poison of wrath—then shall he repent.
The allied kings, life-pledged, urged by our just monarch, will rush in resplendent cars; beholding this onset, he must repent. When the five young sons of Draupadī—tender in years but not in deeds, deft in every weapon—leap like venomous serpents into the press—then shall he repent.
When Sahadeva, quiet-wheeled and unobstructed in motion, car bespangled with gold, steeds well-trained, makes monarchs’ heads to roll with sheaves of arrows—turning left and right and smiting on all sides—then shall he repent. When that modest, mighty, truth-keeping prince, swift and exact, falls upon Gandhārī’s son and scatters his followers—then shall he repent.
When the sons of Draupadī, masters of the chariot-art, dart like cobras on the foe—then shall he repent. When Abhimanyu, Subhadrā’s son—child in years but not in force—cloud-like, rains arrows thick as monsoon, Indra-like in onset—then shall he repent. When that youth, Death’s image to the hostile lines, ravages the ranks—then shall he repent.
When the Prabhadrakas, young and lion-swift, overthrow the Kaurava lines with all their troops—then shall he repent. When the veteran car-lords Virāṭa and Drupada, each at the head of his division, drive their wedges into the Kaurava wall—then shall he repent. When Drupada, headsman of the youthful proud, harvests crowns with cutting shafts—then shall he repent. When Virāṭa bores through the foe with the cool-courage Matsyas—then shall he repent. When the eldest Matsya prince stands mailed and calm in the van for Pāṇḍu’s sons—then shall he repent.
Hear further: when Śikhaṇḍin strikes down Śāntanu’s son, our adversaries perish to a man. When, toppling chariots in his path, well-guarded on his own car, he drives for Bhīṣma—then shall he repent. When Dhṛṣṭadyumna—Drona’s own pupil, holder of the weapon-mysteries—flames in the front of the Śṛñjaya ranks—then shall he repent. When that immeasurable captain, proof to any charge, goes for Droṇa—crumpling the Kuru lines with the hail of his shafts—then shall Duryodhana repent.
What foe can stand before the one who has, fighting foremost, the lion of the Vṛṣṇis, the chief of the Somakas—modest, wise, mighty, and prosperous? Say this also: covet not the kingdom. Our van is led by Sātyaki—Sini’s grandson—dauntless, equal to any on earth, chest broad, arms long, bow full four cubits. When that foe-slayer, urged by me, pours arrows like cloud-floods and drowns your leaders in that storm—then shall he repent.
When that long-armed one, firm in the bow, takes his resolve, the foe—like cattle scenting a lion—breaks before the clash. Hills he could split, worlds he could unmake; trained and quick of hand, he shines on the field like the midday sun. The Yādava lion bears marvellous weapons, their highest uses known; when he wheels his golden car with four white steeds—then shall that passion-ridden prince repent.
And when he beholds my own terrible car—golden-bright, gem-flashing, drawn by white steeds, its banner crowned with the Ape, guided by Keśava—then shall he repent. When he hears the fierce, unceasing twang of the string, loud as thunder, from my hands—leather-guarded fingers drawing till the air itself rings—then, seeing his men abandon him, flying like scattered kine in the dusk my arrows make, he shall repent.
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When winged shafts, keen and vital-seeking, storm from my string like lightning that slays by thousands—devouring steeds and mail-cased elephants—then shall he repent. When his arrows shatter turned back, or are cut and crossed in the sky—he shall repent. When broad-heads from my hand pluck youthful heads as birds pick fruit from high boughs—he shall repent. When his best fall from their cars, and horses and elephants roll lifeless beneath my storm—when his brothers die around him ere they come within fair range—he shall repent.
When, Death-mouthed, I pour my blazing shafts and sweep on all sides through multitudes of cars and infantry—then shall that wretch repent. When dust from my coursers blinds his host, and men, torn by my storm, wander witless—when the whole army breaks, limbless, senseless, athirst; steeds, tuskers, champions fallen; panic howling; hair and bone and skull-heaps strewn like half-finished toys of the Maker—then shall he repent.
When on my car are seen Keśava, the conch of the sea-born (Pañcajanya), I myself, my pair of inexhaustible quivers, my conch (called Devadatta), and my white steeds—then shall he repent. When I consume the Kauravas like Fire at Yuga’s turn consuming a heap of sinning shades—then shall Dhṛtarāṣṭra with his sons repent. When that wrathful prince loses prosperity—brothers, army, followers gone—then stripped of pride, his heart will fail, his body tremble, and he shall repent.
Know this, too. One dawn, when my ablutions and prayers were done, a Brāhmaṇa said to me: “O Pārtha, a hard deed awaits thee; O Savyasācin, thou must fight thy foes. Either Maghavan will stride before thee with thunderbolt lifted, or Kṛṣṇa will guard thee from behind, riding his car with Sugrīva-led steeds.” Trusting that word, I have in this war passed over the wielder of the bolt and chosen Vāsudeva for my ally. Kṛṣṇa is mine for the ruin of the wicked. I see the gods’ own hand in this. He for whom Kṛṣṇa merely wills success—though He lift not a weapon—is sure to conquer, were his foes the immortals led by Indra. What anxiety, then, need we feel against men?’”
So spoke the son of Pāṇḍu, fire-eyed,
With Keśava seated at his side.
The hall, though thronged with kings and spears,
Seemed full of omens, winds, and fears.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus Sañjaya delivered Arjuna’s message—each image a spear, each vow a drawn cord. And the sabhā, bright with ivory and gold, seemed suddenly like a cave of lions hearing the nearing hunter’s horn.
Hearing Sañjaya, the kings leaned forward like trees to wind, and Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son, though outwardly iron, trembled inwardly. Then Sañjaya spoke again, carrying the fire of Pārtha’s words into the bright, sandal-scented hall.
Sañjaya said:
“Listen, O Kuru lords, to what Kiritin added—praise of Vāsudeva and the fate of those who lift a hand against Him.
To conquer Him whose name is Light,
A man would clasp the sea in fight;
With naked arms the waves would quell—
So dreams the fool, and thus he fell.
To split Kailāsa with a slap,
To bruise a mountain like a gnat—
The palm grows torn, the rock stands fast;
So stands the Lord while boasts fly past.
‘He who thinks to overcome Vāsudeva in battle would as soon quench a blazing fire with empty hands, halt the Sun and Moon in mid-course, or seize by force the gods’ own draught of ambrosia. This is He who crushed the Bhoja hosts and, on a single car, bore away famed Rukmiṇī to be his queen, and from her was born high-souled Pradyumna.
It is He who broke the Gandhāras with speed, subdued the sons of Nagnajit, and loosed King Sudarśana from his chains. He who smote the Pāṇḍya with breast to breast, laid low the Kalingas; who, burning Kāśī, left it long without a sovereign, unconquered by all others. Ekalavya of the Niṣādas—though he challenged ever—fell like the Asura Jambha upon a knoll, struck down by Kṛṣṇa. With Baladeva beside Him, He slew the wicked Kaṁsa in open court, amid Vṛṣṇis and Andhakas, and set Ugrasena on the throne.
He fought King Śālva of the aerial city, fearless in illusion; at the very gate He caught with His hands the dreadful Śataghnī hurled from the sky. Who among mortals can endure such might?
Hear, too, of Pragjyotiṣa, Asura-fortress harsh and high, where Naraka, Earth’s son, kept by force Aditi’s jewelled earrings. Not even the gods in conclave with Śakra could subdue him. Seeing Kṛṣṇa’s prowess and the purpose of His birth, they chose Him for that dreadful work; and He, full of divine perfections, consented.
In Nirmocana He cut down six thousand Asuras, shivered barbed showers, slew Mura and his hordes, and pressed within the city. There He met Naraka, immeasurable; and Naraka fell—like a karnikāra torn up by storm—beneath Kṛṣṇa’s hand. Winning the earrings and that deathless fame, the Beautiful returned.
Then and there the gods blessed Him: “Fatigue shall never touch Thee in battle; neither sky nor sea shall bar Thy course; no weapon shall pierce Thy frame.” Thus was He rewarded—immeasurable, all virtues gathered in Him. Yet Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son would vanquish that unbearable Viṣṇu of endless energy—sometimes even dreams of imprisoning Him. For our sakes Kṛṣṇa bears it. He would sow sudden discord ‘twixt Kṛṣṇa and me—but the field shall show how far he can shake the bond between the Vṛṣṇi and the sons of Pāṇḍu.
Having bowed to Śāntanu’s son, to Droṇa and his son, and to the matchless son of Śaradvat, I will fight to regain our realm. Even now Dharma’s Lord prepares the end of him who lifts his hand against us. Cheated at dice, we of royal birth endured twelve years of forest and a year concealed. While we yet live, how shall the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra rejoice in rank and luxury?
If they defeat us, aided by gods and Indra at their head, then vice were better than virtue and righteousness a hollow word. But if deed bears fruit, if we are the better men, then—Vāsudeva at my side—I shall cut down Duryodhana with all his kin. If the taking of our realm was sin and our good deeds do not fail, then judge both this and that: the downfall of Duryodhana is certain.
You Kauravas shall see it: fight—and the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra perish; refrain—and they may live. But if battle comes, not one shall remain. Slaying them all, and Karṇa with them, I shall wrest the whole of their kingdom. Meanwhile, do what pleases you—enjoy your wives and sweets; the end moves near.
There are with us many aged Brāhmaṇas—mild, well-born, masters of the cycles and the stars, versed in fate’s conjunctions—foretelling the ruin of Kuru and Śṛñjaya alike, and the victory of the sons of Pāṇḍu. Yudhiṣṭhira, who never made an enemy, already counts his aim as won through the slaughter of his foes. Janārdana, lion of the Vṛṣṇis, who sees what is unseen, beholds it surely. I, too, with an old foresight, see the same; that vision is not hindered. If they fight, they will not live.
My bow yawns of itself; the cord shivers though unstretched; the arrows at my quiver’s mouth yearn to fly. My bright scimitar slides from its sheath like a serpent from its slough; atop my banner the voices cry, “When shall thy car be yoked, O Kiritin?”
At night the jackals howl; rākṣasas descend; deer, jackals, peacocks, crows, vultures, cranes, wolves, and gold-plumed birds follow my chariot when my white steeds are harnessed.
Single-handed I can send with arrowed rain all warlike kings to Death’s domain. As fire devours a summer wood, so moving in diverse paths I will hurl the great weapons—Sthur-karṇa, Pāśupata, Brahma—and all that Śakra gave me, fierce with impetus. With them I will cut down the gathered monarchs and leave no remnant on the field. I shall rest, my vow fulfilled—this is my fixed resolve.
Tell them this, son of Gāvalgana: see Duryodhana’s folly! He would wage war with those whom even the gods with Indra could scarce withstand. Yet let it be as Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, and Kṛpa, and Droṇa with his son, and wise Vidura say: “May the Kauravas all live long.”’
He praised the Lord no storm can shake,
He swore by truth no threat can break;
He named the omens, drew the line—
And left their fate to will divine.
Vaiśampāyana said:
So Sañjaya ended. The hall—so lately bright with gold and ivory—seemed to darken like a sky before the monsoon. Some hearts beat faster; some hands went cold. And Dhṛtarāṣṭra, though blind, felt the nearness of a wind that topples kings.