Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Sanat-Sujata Parva Chapter 7 - The Division of Armies and the Call to War

Dhṛtarāṣṭra, still seeking hope amid the gathering storm, said to Sañjaya:

“Tell me, O wise one, who from affection or alliance hath come to the side of the sons of Pṛthā? Who among the lords of the earth will lift weapons against my son’s forces?”

Sañjaya bowed and spoke gravely:

“I have seen Kṛṣṇa, the foremost among the Vṛṣṇis and Andhakas, come to their side, O King; and with him stand Sātyaki, the lion of the Sini clan, and Chekitāna, both proud of their might, each commanding an Akṣauhiṇī of his own.

Drupada, lord of the Pañchālas, has come surrounded by his ten heroic sons, Satyajit and others, with Dhṛṣṭadyumna the fire-born at their head, guarded by Śikhaṇḍin whose bow gleams like lightning. The king of the Matsyas, Virāṭa, comes with his sons Śaṅkha and Uttara, and the heroes Madirākṣa and Sūryadatta, leading another mighty host.

From Magadha comes the son of Jarāsandha, and from Cedi the valiant Dhṛṣṭaketu—each with a full division of troops. The five Kekaya brothers, bearing banners of purple hue, arrive with their armies like rivers joining the sea. These, O King, I have seen assembled for the sons of Pāṇḍu. They stand ready to meet thy host under Dhṛṣṭadyumna’s command—he who knows the array of men, gods, Gandharvas, and Asuras alike.”

“The Pañchāla lion leads them all,

Whose birth was fire, whose heart is call;

His banner blazes, red and high,

Like dawn that burns the eastern sky.”

“Bhīṣma,” Sañjaya continued, “the son of Śāntanu, is set against Śikhaṇḍin, and Virāṭa aids him with the warriors of Matsya. Śalya, the mighty king of Madra, is matched with Yudhiṣṭhira, though some deem them ill-paired. Duryodhana, with his brothers and the kings of the east and south, falls to the share of Bhīmasena, while Karṇa and Jayadratha are chosen by Arjuna as his foes.

The five royal brothers of Kekaya face their own kin in battle; the sons of Draupadī are destined for Droṇa, and Abhimanyu for the sons of Duryodhana. Sātyaki longs for battle with the Bhoja chief, Kṛtavarman; Chekitāna seeks Somadatta; Sahadeva, fierce in his roars, hath chosen Śakuni; and Nakula, fair of face and fearless, Ulūka and the Sarasvatas. Thus, O King, the sons of Pāṇḍu have divided the field. Do thou, with thy sons, act now as wisdom guides.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sigh was deep as an autumn wind.

“Alas,” said he, “my sons, ensnared by the dice of deceit, are already dead.

The kings of the earth, consecrated by Death himself, rush to the Gandiva like moths to flame.

How shall they withstand those whom once we wronged—

heroes steadfast as mountains, cool as ocean depths, and fierce as lightning in wrath?”

“They come, O blind and fallen race,

With Dharma’s fire upon their face;

From Pāñchāla’s forge the tempests rise,

To cleanse the earth of ancient lies.”

He continued, his voice breaking with dread:

“Who shall stand before Bhīma the terrible, Arjuna the invincible, Yudhiṣṭhira the just, Nakula and Sahadeva the twin fires of duty? Who shall meet the sons of Draupadī and the mighty Dhṛṣṭadyumna, Sātyaki of the Vṛṣṇis, and the kings of Cedi, Kāśī, and Matsya? When such warriors stand beneath Kṛṣṇa’s gaze, who is my son that he dares defy them?”

Then Duryodhana, proud and blind in pride, replied:

“O Father, both they and we are born of the same blood; both stand upon the same earth—why deemest thou that victory belongs to them alone? Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, Karṇa, Aśvatthāman, Jayadratha—all these are mighty as gods and unconquerable even by Indra with the celestials. My host of kings will bind the sons of Pāṇḍu like a herd of deer entangled in nets of arrows. Our chariots fill the world; their army is but dust before us!”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra turned to Sañjaya, sorrow dark in his voice.

“My son speaketh like a madman. He knows not the power of Yudhiṣṭhira the just, nor the restraint of Bhīṣma who knows their might and yet avoids war. Tell me, O Sūta, who among them fans the fire of battle? Who is the priest pouring clarified butter into this fearful sacrifice of men?”

Sañjaya answered:

“It is Dhṛṣṭadyumna, O King—the fire-born commander of the Pāṇḍava host. Daily he urges them, crying, ‘Fight, O Bharatas! Fear not!

All the kings who flock to Duryodhana shall fall like little fish beneath the whale. Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, Karṇa, and Aśvatthāman—these I shall meet and withstand as the river-bank holds back the surging sea.’

To him Yudhiṣṭhira said, ‘Upon thy steadiness rest both Pāñchālas and Pāṇḍavas. Save us from the peril of war. Thou art the truest Kṣatriya, brave and resolute; thou alone canst deliver those who flee from fear.’

Then Dhṛṣṭadyumna spoke unto me, O King, these words of blazing confidence:

‘Go thou to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons and their gathered allies. Say to Bhīṣma, to Droṇa, to Karṇa, to the princes of the Kurus—Fight not! For before Arjuna’s wrath, protected by the gods, none can stand. His car is guarded by the celestials; his bow Gandiva devours like fire; his arrows are thunderbolts. Let some wise man go and beg Yudhiṣṭhira to accept the kingdom they wrongfully hold. Let them not perish by desiring war.’”

“But Time was deaf to wisdom’s call,

And Fate had spread her shrouding pall;

The drums of death began to roll—

The dice had claimed the Kuru soul.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma, is a Kṣatriya in strength and a Brāhmaṇa in self-restraint. From his youth he has lived in the discipline of Brahmacarya, steadfast in truth and patience. Alas! With that righteous one, these sons of mine, blind in folly, desire to wage war—heedless of my lamentation.

O Duryodhana, foremost among the Bhāratas, listen to thy father’s words. Desist from hostility! Under any circumstance, war is never praised. Half the earth is enough to maintain thyself and all thy followers. Give unto the sons of Pāṇḍu their rightful share; let peace be thy sacrifice, not destruction.”

“Seek not the glory born of flame,

Where kindred burn for fleeting fame;

Peace is the crown that kings should wear,

War is the curse of blind despair.”

“All the Kurus deem this just and right—that peace with the sons of Pāṇḍu alone is Dharma. Reflect, O son, before ruin swallows thee whole. This vast army thou hast assembled is but thy death in disguise. Thou understandest not, deluded by vanity.

I myself do not desire war, nor does venerable Vāhlika, nor Bhīṣma, nor Droṇa, nor Aśvatthāman, nor Kṛpa, nor Śalya, nor even Sanjaya who speaks in wisdom. None of these lions among men approve of battle. Those on whom thou wouldst rely when calamity comes are the very ones who beg thee to turn back. But thou art driven not by will—only by Karṇa, Duhśāsana, and that deceitful dice-player Śakuni, the son of Suvala.”

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Then Duryodhana, with eyes kindled by pride, replied:

“O Father, I challenge the sons of Pāṇḍu to battle—not leaning on thy old age or on Droṇa or Aśvatthāman or Kṛpa or Bhīṣma or any other. I, with Karṇa alone, shall perform the sacrifice of war—

a rite consecrated to Death himself, with Yudhiṣṭhira as the offering.

My chariot shall be the altar;

my sword, the sacrificial ladle;

my mace, the great spoon that pours the ghee;

my armour, the gathered spectators;

my horses, the chanting priests;

my arrows, the blades of kuśa grass;

and my fame, the clarified butter that feeds the flame!”

“In battle’s smoke I’ll raise the fire,

To Death himself the rite conspire;

The Pandu sons shall be the slain,

And glory mine—the victor’s gain.”

“Three of us, O sire—Karna, Duhśāsana, and I—will slay the sons of Pāṇḍu. Either I shall rule this earth, or the sons of Pāṇḍu shall do so after my fall. But I swear before thee, O king of unfading glory, I will not surrender even a needle’s point of land to them! I would sooner cast away my life, my kingdom, and my wealth, than live beneath their shadow.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s face darkened with sorrow. His trembling hands clasped the air, as if grasping ghosts of destiny.

“I abandon thee, Duryodhana,” he said, “for thou art no longer my son but the herald of our doom. Yet I grieve for all the kings who shall follow this madman into the jaws of Death. Like a herd of deer hemmed by tigers, they will fall before the sons of Pāṇḍu—the foremost of smiters!

Behold, Sātyaki of the long arms, the lion of the Vṛṣṇis—he will rend our ranks like a storm that scatters forests. Behind him Yudhiṣṭhira’s army will surge like the ocean at full tide. Bhīmasena will lead in the van, his soldiers standing behind him as behind a fortress wall.

When thou seest elephants, vast as hills, hurled to the dust, their tusks broken and their temples crimson with blood—when chariots blaze and horses fall, and the earth itself groans beneath the clash of steel—then, O my son, thou shalt remember these my words. When Bhīma’s mace crashes upon the field and the smoke of battle spreads like the track of a wildfire, thou shalt recall this counsel and know I spoke in truth.”

“The sons of Pandu’s wrath shall wake,

And all thy vaunting hosts shall quake;

The blind shall hear, the proud shall fall,

When Justice comes to judge us all.”

“If peace be not made, calamity shall overwhelm you like a flood. Slain by Bhīma’s mace, ye will find rest only in death. When thou beholdest the Kuru host levelled to the earth by his arms, like a mighty forest uprooted in storm, thou wilt remember my words—but too late.”

And when the old king had spoken thus to all the assembled monarchs,

he turned once more to Sanjaya, his voice hollow as a conch in darkness:

“Tell me again, O wise one,” said he,

“what next befalls this race of Bharata,

whose fate now hastens on like the last flicker of a dying lamp.”

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said, “Tell me, O thou of great wisdom, what the high-souled Vāsudeva and Dhanañjaya said. I am anxious to hear all that passed between them.”

Vaiśampāyana continued:

Then Sanjaya, the wise minister and devoted messenger, spoke unto the blind monarch, saying,

“Listen, O king, to the words that were exchanged between Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna. Hear also in what state I found those two lions among men.”

With senses composed, hands joined, and gaze humbly lowered, Sanjaya entered the inner chamber where the two Krishnas and Draupadī sat with lady Satyabhāmā. Neither Abhimanyu nor the twin sons of Mādrī were permitted to enter there, for it was a private council of divine souls.

He beheld them radiant with youth and splendour, their bodies adorned with garlands, their eyes bright with the fragrance of Bassia wine. Attired in silken robes and decked with ornaments of celestial design, they sat upon a golden dais inlaid with gems and carpeted in many-hued fabrics.

Gleamed the gold and glowed the gems,

Where heroes sat in calm repose.

Like twin gods on Meru’s heights,

Their splendour burned through mortal clothes.

Kṛṣṇa’s feet rested upon Arjuna’s lap, while Arjuna’s rested upon the laps of Kṛṣṇa and Satyabhāmā. When Arjuna pointed him to a golden stool, Sanjaya humbly touched it and sat upon the ground. As Arjuna withdrew his feet, Sanjaya saw the marks of destiny upon his soles—two auspicious lines running from heel to toe, radiant as molten gold.

Beholding them, tall as śāla trees, dark as storm clouds, shining like Indra and Viṣṇu seated together, fear seized his heart. And he thought, “Surely, the wishes of Yudhiṣṭhira—who has such allies—shall never fail.”

After he was honoured with food, water, and courteous words, Sanjaya bowed low and delivered the message of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Then, with his hand scarred by bowstring burns, Arjuna gently moved Kṛṣṇa’s feet from his lap and said softly, “Speak now, O Keśava.”

Then Kṛṣṇa, seated erect like Indra’s banner, resplendent as the morning sun, and shining with divine majesty, spoke. His words were sweet and mild, yet terrible in their truth; gentle in tone, yet thunderous in meaning.

Calm were his eyes like lotus leaves,

But fierce his words, like bolts of flame.

Honey and lightning mingled there—

For justice burns though spoken tame.

And thus said Keśava, the Lord of all beings:

“O Sanjaya, speak these words unto Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the wise old king, and in the hearing of Bhīṣma, the grandsire, and Droṇa, the preceptor.

First salute the elders in our name; enquire after the welfare of the young and the old alike. Then say unto them—

‘Perform your sacrifices while there is yet time. Give in charity, rejoice with your sons and wives, for danger looms like a shadow over the Kuru race. Do good unto the deserving, beget noble children, and rejoice in dharma while you may—for Yudhiṣṭhira thirsts for victory.’”

When I had turned to leave, Kṛṣṇa’s eyes moistened with tears. He spoke once more, his voice subdued with compassion and warning.

“A debt remains unpaid in time,

O Sanjaya, and fate shall bind.

They have provoked the wrath of one

Whose arm is Death, whose heart is kind.”

And again he said:

“Ye have roused enmity with that Savyasācin whose bow is the invincible Gāṇḍīva, who is of fiery energy, and who has me for his charioteer. Who, even if he were Indra himself, would dare challenge Arjuna, save one whose span of life is ended?

He who can vanquish Arjuna in battle can uphold the Earth upon his arms, consume creation in anger, and hurl the gods themselves from heaven. Among the celestials, Asuras, men, Yakṣas, Gandharvas, or Nāgas—none may stand before him in war.

That single battle in the city of Virāṭa, where Partha alone routed your countless warriors, bears witness enough. Ye all fled in confusion before him then, though he fought unarmed and unseen.”

“Speed, endurance, fire, and grace—

All dwell in him as in the sun.

Who stands before his wrathful gaze,

Shall perish ere the fight is won.”

Thus thundered Hari, the Lord of motion and mind, consoling Pārtha as clouds console the earth with rain. When Keśava had spoken thus, Arjuna of the white steeds, his brow radiant with courage, also spoke to the same effect, confirming every word of his divine friend.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Having heard Sanjaya’s words, the blind monarch, wise through long reflection though sightless in form, pondered deeply upon them. He weighed their merits and demerits as one measures balance upon a scale. He examined the strength and weakness of both armies—one ruled by dharma, the other by desire. And at last, that learned king discerned that the sons of Pāṇḍu were sustained by strength both human and divine, while the Kauravas leaned upon the brittle staff of pride and chance.

Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, filled with restless foreboding, spoke unto Duryodhana:

“O son, a dark anxiety never leaves me.

It haunts my waking hours and clouds my dreams.

Not by inference do I see this doom—

I behold it as if with my very eyes.

All creatures love their offspring; all do what they may for their happiness and safety. So too the gods aid those who serve them well. The good return good, and benefactors never abandon the grateful. Therefore I say unto thee, O Duryodhana—remember the burning of Khāṇḍava! Agni, who was aided by Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa in his hunger, will surely repay that debt. He will stand beside the Pāṇḍavas in battle.”

Fire remembers friendship’s hand,

The gods repay their debts of flame.

The world is bound by dharma’s strand—

Each deed returns, though none may claim.

“From fatherly affection, Dharma himself, and the other celestials invoked by Yudhiṣṭhira’s righteousness, will descend to protect them. Against Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Kripa, the immortals themselves shall rise, wrathful as the thunderbolt.

Endued with heavenly power and skill in arms, those sons of Pṛthā—when joined by gods—will not be borne even by the gaze of men.

Think, O child, of Arjuna, wielder of the unfailing Gāṇḍīva, whose twin quivers granted by Varuṇa are inexhaustible; whose chariot, radiant as the sun, bears upon its banner the monkey of celestial birth; whose car resounds like storming clouds, terrifying the hearts of foes.

He whom the world hails as more than man, whom kings revere as the conqueror even of the gods—he who can take up five hundred arrows and release them unseen in the blink of an eye—such is Arjuna, tiger among men, whose strength rivals Kārtavīrya himself.”

Clouds are his wheels; the storm his sound;

His banner flares through battle’s breath.

The earth shall quake where he is found—

His bowstring hums the hymn of death.

“Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kripa, the son of Droṇa, Śalya of Madra, yea, all impartial warriors, admit—none born of woman can vanquish him. Equal to Indra, or to Upendra, the younger lord of heaven, Arjuna is the destroyer I behold in vision, blazing across the field of Kuru.

Day and night I dwell upon this, and my heart knows no rest. Sleep flees from me, and joy departs; I see destruction approaching the house of Kuru.

If there is a path other than peace, it leads only to ruin. Therefore, O child, let there be peace with the sons of Pāṇḍu.

For I deem them mightier than all the Kurus combined.”

Thus spoke the sire whose sight was gone,

Yet vision dwelt within his mind.

For though his eyes be veiled in dawn,

He saw the fate his sons would find.