Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 5 – Ulūka Agamana Parva - Chapter 4 - The Might of the Pāṇḍavas

Vaisampāyana said—When Duryodhana had asked to hear of the heroes among his foes, Bhīṣma the grandsire, calm as the sea yet deep with unspoken awe, began to recount the might of the sons of Pāṇḍu. His voice, solemn and prophetic, carried the weight of destiny.

“Listen, O king,” said Bhīṣma, “for I shall now name the Rathas and Atirathas among the sons of Pāṇḍu, those who stand arrayed against thee.

The eldest, Yudhiṣṭhira—son of Dharma, born of Kuntī—is a mighty Ratha. Like blazing fire he shall glide across the field, his calm wrath veiled in righteousness. His mind is steady as the sacrificial flame that devoureth sin.

Bhīmasena, O king, is equal to eight Rathas. None in earth or heaven is his equal with the mace or the bow. Possessed of ten thousand elephants’ strength, fierce in onset, he moves like a storm upon the field. When his wrath awakens, it is as the fire that ends the Yuga.

The sons of Mādrī—Nakula and Sahadeva—are both Rathas, radiant as the twin Aśvins, graceful and strong. Stationed at the head of their divisions, remembering every wrong and exile endured, they shall move through thy ranks like twin Indras.

Tall as the sāla trunks, bright-eyed and lion-hearted,

Fierce in might and stainless in soul,

Practised in vows and pure austerity—

They are the storm within Dharma’s control.

All the sons of Pāṇḍu, O monarch, are swift as thought and terrible in battle. No mortal can wield their bows or lift their maces. Even in childhood they surpassed thy sons in speed, aim, and sport. To face them now, grown in might and hardened by suffering, is peril indeed. Each alone could overthrow the kings of the earth.

“Remember,” Bhīṣma said, “what thou didst witness at the Rājasūya—how they triumphed over every monarch beneath the sky. Think also of the humiliation of Draupadī, of her tears in the hall of dice. With that memory burning in their hearts, they will fight like Rudras incarnate.”

Then Bhīṣma’s tone deepened, for he came to the name that none could hear without awe.

“As for Dhanañjaya, Gudākeśa of the red eyes, having Nārāyaṇa himself for his ally—there is not in all the three worlds, among gods or men or spirits, any Ratha equal to him.

O king, that car of his bears the banner of the great Ape; its driver is Keśava himself; its warrior is Arjuna; its bow is the celestial Gāṇḍīva; its steeds are wind-swift; its armour is of heaven’s own forge; its quivers are inexhaustible.

From Indra, Rudra, Yama, Varuṇa, and Kubera he hath received divine weapons. On his car are maces of dreadful shape and thunderbolts among them. Who is his equal, he that once alone destroyed a thousand Dānavas of golden Hiranyapura?

The ape-bannered car rolls like thunder,

With Kṛṣṇa for charioteer and friend;

Arjuna’s bow resounds like storm and wonder,

Till gods themselves in homage bend.

Inflamed with wrath, unfailing in aim, he shall rain arrows upon thee like clouds at monsoon, when great winds drive the storm. Beside him sits Keśava, calm and smiling, yet holding the reins of fate. Who then among mortals can stand against that pair?

I and Droṇa alone, O king, among all the two hosts, can meet him in the field—and even we are aged, while he is young, tireless, and divine.”

Vaisampāyana continued—

Hearing the grandsire’s words, heavy with truth, the assembled kings felt the blood drain from their faces. Their bracelets rattled loosely on arms grown limp; the sandal-paste upon their skin seemed to pale. For in Bhīṣma’s measured tones they heard not counsel alone, but the prophecy of doom—the certain coming of that storm named Arjuna, guided by the eternal Keśava, before whom no man could stand.

Vaisampāyana said—When Duryodhana asked whose valour among the sons of Pṛthā would bear hardest on the field, Bhīṣma, slow of speech and full of years’ knowledge, named each in turn, laying their strengths before the king as if setting torches about the plain so that destiny’s shape might be seen.

In measured tone he began: all five sons of Draupadī were Maharathas—warriors of the first order, each fitted to shatter ranks and lead great car-divisions. Uttara, the son of Virāta, he judged one of the foremost of Rathas, steady and brave. Above them all stood Abhimanyu, the mighty-armed son of Subhadrā, whom Bhīṣma called a leader of leaders of car-divisions; so fierce and practised was the youth that in many respects he was thought equal to Pārtha himself or even to Vāsudeva. Abhimanyu’s hand was quick in the use of weapons; versed in the stratagems of war, full of energy and steadfast in vow, he would bring to remembrance the sufferings of his sire and then pour out his prowess upon the foe.

Born of Subhadrā, bright as morning flame,

Abhimanyu rides where death and honour meet;

Swift of shaft and steady of unclouded aim,

He bears his father’s vow in every beat.

Bhīṣma continued: Sātyaki of Madhu’s line was a leader of leaders among the Vrṣṇis—wrathful, dauntless, and foremost in the shock of battle. Uttamaujas, he judged, was an excellent car-warrior, nimble and resolute; Yudhamanyu, too, shone with prowess and was reckoned among the foremost. Each of these chiefs commanded many thousands of cars, elephants, and steeds; all would fight recklessly for the sons of Kuntī, throwing their lives away gladly for Kuntī’s favour and for the cause of the Pandavas. United with those brothers, they would sweep through the Kaurava ranks like storm or wildfire.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Sātyaki the furious, trumpet of the Vrṣṇis’ wrath,

Rides fearless through the press where heroes fall;

Uttamaujas and Yudhamanyu cut a path,

Like quick twin flames that answer duty’s call.

In calm narrative Bhīṣma closed his list with the elder kings: old Virāta and aged Drupada, though bent with years, were Maharathas in his estimation—seasoned bowmen whose devotion to Kshatriya duty and to the Pandavas had added fresh strength to their arms. Bound by relationship and moved by affection, both bore into the field a force compounded from skill, love, and purpose. Acting with single-hearted resolve, each would lead his Akṣauhini with the courage of a man who has no thought save the fulfilment of his pledge; thus would they, old though they were, lay down life and limb to wreak a great slaughter upon the foe and justify the trust reposed in them.

Vaisampāyana said—So spoke the grandsire, and through his measured words the might of the Pāṇḍava host shone clear before those who sat in the night. The kings listened; their arms, once uplifted in pride, seemed to hang heavy as if already weighed by the remembrance of those names.

Vaisampāyana said—When the night deepened over the Kuru camp and the kings sat in anxious stillness, Bhīṣma, the grandsire of wisdom, continued his solemn reckoning of warriors. His words flowed calm and grave, though beneath them ran the thunder of prophecy.

“Know, O king,” said Bhīṣma, “that Śikhaṇḍin, the subjugator of cities and son of Drupada, is one of the foremost Rathas among Yudhiṣṭhira’s ranks. Having laid aside his former form, he will now fight as a man and earn fame beyond compare. Supported by the hosts of the Panchālas and the Prabhadrakas, he will move through battle like a blazing fire driven by the wind.”

Born twice, once of body and once of vow,

He comes where destiny calls him now.

Though born to shame, he rides to fame,

And Bhīṣma’s fall shall bear his name.

Bhīṣma turned next to the leader of Yudhiṣṭhira’s host.

“Dṛṣṭadyumna, O Bhārata, son of Drupada, disciple of Droṇa, is an Atiratha—a warrior of boundless might. In battle he will sweep through thy ranks like Maheśvara himself when the end of Yuga draws near. His divisions are countless, vast as the ocean. Even seasoned warriors will speak of his army with awe.”

Kṣattradharman, Dṛṣṭadyumna’s son, was yet young and untrained. “He is,” Bhīṣma said softly, “but half a Ratha, for he hath not yet proved his hand.”

Dṛṣṭaketu, king of the Cedis and son of Śiśupāla, Bhīṣma named a Maharatha. “He and his son, strong in devotion to the Pāṇḍavas, will perform deeds hard even for gods.”

Kṣattradeva, a subduer of cities and steadfast in Kṣatriya virtue, was ranked among the best Rathas; and the Panchāla lords—Jayanta, Amitaujas, and Satyajit—he counted all as Maharathas, “for they fight like maddened elephants, irresistible in their rush.”

“Aja and Bhoja,” said Bhīṣma, “those youthful heroes of equal skill, are both Maharathas. Light of hand, firm of heart, well-versed in every mode of warfare, they will smite the foe like twin bolts from the sky.”

“The five Kṣatriya brothers—whose banners are red as blood—Kasika, Sukumāra, Nīla, Suryadatta, and Śaṅkha (called also Madirāśva)—are foremost of Rathas, masters of every weapon, high in soul and courage.”

Vardhakṣemī he named a Maharatha, and Chitrāyudha, dear to Arjuna, he praised as “one of the best Rathas, devoted and swift, whose car flashes like lightning beside the ape-banner.”

In the shadow of Pārtha’s car he rides,

True as the arrow that never divides;

His bow resounds where duty calls,

Till honour ends or darkness falls.

Chekitāna and Satyadhṛti were also named among the chief Rathas, “tigers among men,” said Bhīṣma. Vyaghradatta and Candrasena, he added, were likewise foremost among the Pāṇḍava warriors, “their hearts fearless, their arrows unerring.”

Then he spoke of Senavindu—also called Krodhahantrī—“equal to Vāsudeva and to Bhīmasena in might, a king whose prowess none may question. Esteem him, O monarch, even as thou dost Droṇa, Kṛpa, or myself.”

Like fire he burns, yet keeps his flame,

To guard the vow and uphold the name;

Fierce his joy when battles start—

A lion’s roar from a warrior’s heart.

Kāśya, the subjugator of cities, he judged to be a single Ratha, “swift of hand and trained in arms.” Satyajit, the young son of Drupada, he called equal to eight Rathas, “for he matches Dṛṣṭadyumna himself and will spread the fame of the Pāṇḍavas wide through the earth.”

Bright youth whose arrows sing like flame,

His joy is glory, not his name;

His bowstring hums, his chariot flies—

The promise of triumph in his eyes.

“There is another great Ratha,” said Bhīṣma, “king Paṇḍya, steadfast and brave, who will lay down his life for the sons of Dharma. Dhridadhanvan too, the unyielding archer, is a Maharatha among them.

And know, O Duryodhana, that Śreṇimat and the noble Vasudeva of the Yādava race are both Atirathas, their strength unconquered, their loyalty firm.”

Thus spoke Bhīṣma, his words falling like the toll of a sacred bell in the stillness of night. Around him, the kings of the Kurus sat motionless, each hearing in the grandsire’s even tone the gathering thunder of war—the measured enumeration of the men who would meet them on the morrow beneath the sun of Kurukṣetra.

Vaisampāyana said—Bhīṣma, the grandsire whose voice carried the weight of many ages, continued his slow, luminous reckoning of the champions that girded both hosts. In the hush of that night, with the kings leaning close as if to catch the sparks of fate, he named those who would make the morrow either glory or ruin for Duryodhana.

He began with valour near at hand. Rochamana, he said, stands among the Maharathas of the Pāṇḍavas—a warrior who will contend like a second god upon the field. Kuntibhoja, the mighty uncle of Bhīmasena, skilled in every mode of fight and strong as the law of arms itself, Bhīṣma placed as an Atiratha: a bull among car-warriors, fierce as Indra against the Danavas and devoted to the sons of his sister.

Rochamana rides as one who answers fate,

A god in arms where mortal thunder breaks;

Kuntibhoja stands, a bull to guard the right—

His spear a storm, his oaths like iron stakes.

Bhīṣma next spoke of the dread-born son of Bhīma, Ghaṭotkacha, whose Rakshasa powers and arts of illusion mark him as a leader of leaders. Fond of battle and skilled in phantasm, he will marshal Rakshasa hosts and hurl them like shadowed fire into the Kaurava ranks; his counsellors and dependents, likewise monstrous in courage, will rend and rout when called.

Ghaṭotkacha, child of wind and Rakshasa flame,

Wears night as armour and illusion for a sword;

He comes, a tempest in a hundred hidden forms,

To turn the field where mortal plans are moored.

In measured tone Bhīṣma gathered the rest: many rulers and princely contingents had assembled round Vasudeva and the sons of Pāṇḍu—these, he declared, were the Rathas, Atirathas, and half-Rathas whose ranks would shape the terrible array of Yudhiṣṭhira. He spoke plainly of his own intent: he would meet Arjuna and Keśava—Gandīva and discus in their hands—with the same stedfast heart that had borne him through earlier storms. In the field he would confront those foremost car-warriors, expecting either death or victory, and he likened that meeting to the evening sight of sun and moon set together—radiant opposites fixed for the witness of the world.

Sun and moon together on the dusking brow,

Keśava and Arjuna, bright twin orbs of war;

I, Bhīṣma, as the shore that greets their tide,

Will face their splendor and their thunderous roar.