Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 5 – Ulūka Agamana Parva - Chapter 2 - Ulūka Tests The Pandava’s Patience

Vaiśampāyana said—Ulūka, the gambler’s son, seeing the sons of Pāṇḍu gathered like coiled serpents roused by heat, repeated again, word for word, the taunts of Suyodhana. Already provoked, the heroes burned fiercer at this second sting. They rose as one, stretching their arms; and their eyes, red as fire, flashed from face to face like hooded cobras seeking prey.

Bhīmasena lowered his face and breathed hard, the Wind-god’s son hissing like a wrathful serpent. He cast the blood-red corners of his eyes toward Keśava. Seeing Vṛkodara so afflicted and inflamed, Keśava of the Daśārhas smiled slightly and said to the envoy, “Go now without delay. Say to Suyodhana: ‘Thy words are heard and thy meaning grasped. Let what thou desirest be.’” Then, with a glance of counsel toward Yudhiṣṭhira, the wise, he fell silent.

Yet Ulūka, in the sight of the Śṛñjayas, of Kṛṣṇa of unfading fame, of Drupada and his sons, of Virāṭa and many kings, recited once more the barbs aimed at Pārtha, pricking a serpent already aroused. He spoke as bidden even to Kṛṣṇa and the others. At those harsh and galling words, Pārtha wiped the sweat from his brow, and the monarchs present could scarcely endure the sight of his indignation. For the insult offered to Kṛṣṇa and to that high-souled son of Pṛthā, the Pāṇḍavas’ car-warriors were shaken. Though firm of mind, those tigers among men burned.

Dhṛṣṭadyumna, Śikhaṇḍin, Sātyaki the lion-man, the five Kekaya brothers, Ghaṭotkaca the Rākṣasa, the sons of Draupadī, Abhimanyu, King Dhṛṣṭaketu, Bhīmasena of terrible prowess, and the twin sons of Mādrī—all sprang up, eyes flaring, tossing handsome arms bright with sandal and gold.

Understanding their hearts from their gestures, Vṛkodara leapt up too, gnashing his teeth, licking the corners of his mouth, his hands clenched, his gaze turned fierce upon the envoy. Then Bhīma spoke, and his vow blazed like a brand.

O fool, thy stinging words we’ve heard—

A goad from one who thinks us dull.

Return and tell Suyodhana this:

the morrow’s sun shall see my vow made full.

Though mountains split, though oceans surge,

my word stands fast, it shall not bend.

I drink Dussāsana’s blood—behold!—

and send each maddened Kṣatriya to his end.

If Rudra guard thee, if Kuvera shield,

if Yama’s staff be raised for thee,

the sons of Pāṇḍu keep their vows—

and fate shall fetch thee where thou’dst flee.

He ceased, and his breath still thundered. Then Sahadeva, eyes reddened with wrath, spoke like a blade swiftly drawn:

Go, tell thy sire what I declare—

this feud was born with thee, O spite!

A bane upon thy father’s house,

thou cam’st to plunge our world in night.

I cross this sea of ancient wrongs:

first, thee, before thy uncle’s face;

then Śakuni I pierce and fell—

and end the mischief of your race.

Hearing the iron-stamped words of Bhīma and Sahadeva, Pārtha smiled and gently stayed the storm:

Peace, Bhīma—envoys bear but breath,

another’s fire upon their tongue.

They shape no ends, they draw no bow;

blame not the drum for war’s harsh song.

Then, turning to his allies—Dhṛṣṭadyumna foremost—Dhanañjaya spoke plainly in the hearing of all:

“Ye have heard the sinful son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra revile Vāsudeva—and me. Your anger rises for our sake, and rightly. Yet by Vāsudeva’s might and by your endeavour, I count not all the Kṣatriyas of earth together. With your leave, I will send Suyodhana his answer. When the morrow comes, I shall give reply from the van of my division—through my bow. For they who are unmanly answer in words.”

Hearing this, the assembled kings applauded the son of Pāṇḍu, marvelling at the deft turn of his reply. Then Yudhiṣṭhira, having soothed each monarch by age and merit, addressed Ulūka with the gravity of Dharma’s heir:

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A righteous king bears not contempt;

long have I heard thy master’s spite.

Hear now my word and carry it—

a measured answer, firm and right.

His eyes, serpent-red with contained wrath, his tongue passing over his lips as if swelling with the heat of Kṣatriya fire, Yudhiṣṭhira cast a look upon Janārdana and his brothers and spoke with mingled mildness and steel:

Say thus to Duryodhana, wretch—

ungrateful heart, in malice bred:

A Kṣatriya stands by strength he owns,

and calls his foemen forth himself to dread.

Come as a man, and summon us;

hide not behind the great we honour.

Lean on thyself and on thy men—

then call the sons of Pṛthā to encounter.

He who cries war by others’ might,

yet dares not meet the clash alone,

proves eunuch-heart by trumpet-sound,

his borrowed thunder not his own.

Then Keśava, lotus-eyed, addressed the envoy so that the words might lodge like fire in Suyodhana’s heart:

Tell Suyodhana: let dawn draw nigh—

and be a man when battle wakes.

Think not that I, as charioteer,

have laid aside what wrath can take.

At Yudhiṣṭhira’s command alone

I hold the reins for Pārtha’s hand;

yet were my anger once unbound,

your gathered kings would fall like sand.

Flee past the rim of the three worlds,

or burrow deep beneath the plain—

at morn thou still shalt see the car

of Pārtha stand before thy gaze.

Bhīma’s dark vow is counted done;

thy crooked words are weightless straw.

Neither the king, nor Pārtha, nor

the wolf-bellied Bhīma reckons thee in awe.

Vaiśampāyana said—Thus, in the Pāṇḍava camp by the Hiraṇvatī’s bank, vows were spoken like thunder, yet the wind of restraint still blew from Dharma’s son. Ulūka bowed and withdrew, his charge fulfilled. The night around Kurukṣetra listened—drums sleeping, standards hushed—while wrath and dharma yoked themselves to chariots, awaiting dawn.

Vaiśampāyana said—When Ulūka had delivered his fiery charge and departed, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Kuntī, rose in silence, the flame of purpose steady in his gaze. Then, like the slow breathing of a mountain before eruption, the camp of the sons of Pāṇḍu began to stir. Trumpets of silver sounded, banners unfurled, and the murmur of warriors gathering rolled like the deep surge of the ocean.

At Yudhiṣṭhira’s word, Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the prince of the Pāñcālas, took command of the host. That vast army—fourfold in strength, with elephants, steeds, chariots, and footmen—spread upon Kurukṣetra like the calm immensity of the sea before the storm.

Four arms of might the army bore—

steeds like wind, and cars like flame,

elephants that shook the ground,

and men unnumbered, fierce of frame.

Its foremost guardians were Bhīmasena and Arjuna, twin fires of wrath, while all around them stood kings and chieftains whose crests glittered like stars. The army’s stillness was terrible, for it was the stillness of a drawn bow awaiting the string’s release.

Then Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the fire-hued son of Drupada, invincible in battle and born to be the destroyer of Droṇa, moved among the divisions, naming champions to meet champions, each pair destined by vow and valor.

Against the son of the charioteer—Karna,

he set the wielder of Gāṇḍīva, Arjuna.

Against Duryodhana, Bhīma the wolf-bellied stood.

Dhrishtaketu he matched with mighty Śalya,

and Uttamaujas with Kripa, Gautama’s son.

Nakula’s grace he pitted against Kṛtavarman’s guile,

Yuyudhāna of the Vṛṣṇis against Jayadratha of Sindhu’s shore.

At the forefront, like dawn before the sun,

he placed Śikhaṇḍin against grandsire Bhīṣma.

Sahadeva he loosed upon Śakuni the wily,

and Chekitāna upon Śala, fierce and proud.

The five sons of Draupadī he sent

against the wild Trigartas, roaring for fame.

Abhimanyu, the bright child of Subhadrā,

he set against Vṛṣasena, Karṇa’s son—

and even against all others, for the boy’s splendour

outshone Arjuna’s own in that hour of wrath.

Having thus arrayed the hosts, Dhṛṣṭadyumna kept Droṇa for himself, as a flame keeps its destined fuel. His bow, red as fire, gleamed like the weapon of destiny itself.

Steadfast he stood, heart firm,

in the hush before the tempest;

and the earth beneath seemed to hold her breath,

waiting for the tread of gods upon her field.

Vaiśampāyana said—So the son of Drupada, leader of leaders, disposed the armies of the sons of Pāṇḍu for victory, awaiting the dawn that would bring the day of reckoning. And thus the field of Kurukṣetra, vast as the ocean and heavy with omens, stood poised between silence and thunder, between dharma and destruction.

Vaiśampāyana said—When Ulūka had gone and the night’s tense silence fell once more upon the camps, Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s heart was restless as the sea before a storm. He said unto Sañjaya, his voice trembling between fear and foreboding:

“After Pārtha had vowed the slaying of Bhīṣma in battle,

what did my sons, wicked and misguided, do?

Alas, I see before my inward eye

the grandsire, son of Gaṅgā, lying slain—

pierced by Arjuna’s shafts,

while Keśava guides his car!

What did that lion among bowmen,

that foremost of smiters, Bhīṣma,

say when he heard Arjuna’s vow?

Having taken command of the host,

what counsel gave he, the ancient,

of immeasurable wisdom and prowess?”

Hearing this, Vaiśampāyana said—Sañjaya, steadfast in truth, replied to the blind monarch, recounting the words of that aged Kuru, Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, whose mind was deep as the ocean and whose vow was as the thunderbolt.

Sañjaya said—“O king, when the high-souled Bhīṣma obtained command over the Kaurava army, he spoke thus unto Duryodhana, gladdening his darkened heart:

‘Having worshipped Kumāra, the spear-bearing son of Śiva,

the general of celestial hosts,

I take command this day of thy army.

Well-versed am I in the science of array and encounter,

of advance and retreat,

and of marshalling warriors as of the stars themselves.

I know the methods of the celestials, of Gandharvas, and of men.

By these arts shall I confound the sons of Pāṇḍu.

Cast off thy fear, O child—

I shall protect thy host and fight according to the laws of war.’”

Hearing these words, Duryodhana’s face brightened like a flame fed by wind.

“O Gaṅgā’s son of mighty arms,” said he,

“with thee at the head of my army,

what have I to fear from gods or Asuras combined?

With thee and Droṇa beside me,

the sovereignty of even heaven is not beyond reach!

Yet tell me this, O grandsire,

who among all warriors—our own and theirs—

are to be called Rathas and who Atirathas?

For thou, O Bhīṣma, knowest the measure of all bowmen

and the strength of every heart.”