Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 – Yudha Arambha Parva - Chapter 5 - The First Clash — Bhīṣma and Arjuna Meet in Battle

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“When my army and the host of the Pāṇḍavas stood thus arrayed for battle, O Sañjaya, tell me—how did the foremost of smiters begin to strike?”

Sañjaya said:

When the two vast hosts had taken their positions, O King, the warriors stood ready, their bodies cased in shining mail, their banners streaming in the wind. The field glittered like a restless ocean of steel. Then thy son Duryodhana, standing at the heart of the Kaurava sea, addressed his warriors in a voice that rolled like thunder:

“Ye heroes, girded in mail, lift high your standards and strike!

Cast away fear, cast away life itself—

Rush upon the foe as lions upon prey,

For glory is born of peril.”

At his command, the warriors, fierce-hearted and resolved upon death, rushed upon the sons of Pāṇḍu. The tumult was like that of heaven’s oceans colliding. Elephants roared, steeds neighed, and chariot wheels screamed against the earth. Shafts feathered in gold flew like meteors across the sky, descending upon horses, elephants, and men alike.

Then Bhīṣma, the venerable grandsire of the Kurus, mighty-armed and terrible in wrath, took up his bow. Clad in shining mail, he advanced like blazing fire fed with ghee, and poured an unending rain of arrows upon Arjuna, upon Abhimanyu the son of Subhadrā, upon Virāṭa, the ruler of the Kekayas, and upon Dṛṣṭadyumna of the Pṛṣata line. So fierce was his onset that the Pāṇḍava host wavered like a field of reeds before the storm.

Shafts hissed and sang like serpents in the air,

Breaking mail, splintering cars,

Horses and men fell mingled together,

And the earth ran red beneath their scars.

The car-divisions of the Pāṇḍavas began to give way. Then Arjuna, beholding Bhīṣma blazing like a sun amidst the storm of battle, spoke to Keśava with anger in his eyes:

“O Janārdana, guide my chariot toward the grandsire!

For see—Bhīṣma’s wrath, like Time itself, devours our ranks.

Droṇa, Kripa, Śalya, Vikarna, and the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra,

Shielded by his bow, will sweep away the Pañchālas.

I must confront him, or our cause is lost.”

And Keśava answered him with calm voice and smiling eyes:

“Be wary, O Dhanañjaya. I shall take thee before him;

Let the bow of Indra’s son speak in the language of thunder.”

Then Sauri, the dark-hued Lord, drove that chariot of golden radiance forward, yoked to steeds white as snow-clouds. Banners streamed aloft, and the great ape emblem upon the flagstaff roared as if alive. The sound of its cry mingled with the rattle of the car-wheels, rolling like the voice of gathering storm-clouds.

Arjuna, like an infuriate elephant, rushed through the ranks, scattering men and steeds before him. Bhīṣma, seeing him thus advance, drew near, guarded by Saindhava, the warriors of the East, the Sauviras, and the Kekayas. Against that onrush, Bhīṣma stood unshaken—like the peak of Meru facing the storm.

Arrow met arrow, flame against flame,

The sky darkened with the flight of steel;

The earth beneath quaked at their aim—

No mortal eye could mark their duel’s wheel.

Then Bhīṣma pierced Arjuna with seventy-seven shafts; Droṇa struck him with five and twenty; Kripa with fifty; Duryodhana with four and sixty; Śalya with nine; Aśvatthāman with sixty; Vikarna with three; Saindhava with nine; and Śakuni with five. Even Ārtayani smote him with three broad-headed arrows.

But Arjuna, pierced on every side, stood firm as a mountain, unmoved though its slopes are struck by rain and wind. Then the diadem-decked hero answered in kind—five and twenty arrows against Bhīṣma, nine against Kripa, sixty against Droṇa, three against Vikarna, three against Ārtayani, and five that pierced the body of Duryodhana.

Sātyaki, Virāṭa, Dṛṣṭadyumna, the sons of Draupadī, and young Abhimanyu closed around him for support, forming a wall of steel. Meanwhile, the prince of the Pañchālas advanced with his Somaka warriors to engage Droṇa, who had turned to aid the grandsire.

Bhīṣma, smiling beneath his silver beard, pierced Arjuna with eighty arrows in a single breath, at which the Kaurava ranks shouted for joy. But Arjuna, hearing their cries, drew back his bowstring with the sound of a storm and entered again into the midst of the lions of battle, loosing shafts faster than the eye could follow.

Seeing his men fall, Duryodhana cried out to Bhīṣma:

“O grandsire! Though thou and Droṇa still live,

The son of Pāṇḍu, with Keśava beside him,

Heweth our roots and layeth waste our might.

Karṇa hath laid aside his arms out of deference to thee,

Else would he have faced that son of Kuntī!

Do thou, therefore, slay Pārtha, lest our hope perish.”

Then Bhīṣma, the son of Gaṅgā, hearing his plea, uttered only, “Fie upon this Kṣatriya custom that breeds such craving!” and wheeled his car toward Arjuna. The field shook as the two white-chariot warriors faced each other—one the aged ocean of knowledge, the other the youthful tempest of might.

Conches roared, banners streamed,

The air was torn with cries and flame;

Two heroes met where destinies dreamed—

Time held its breath to watch their fame.

The chariots of both drew near, ringed by Duryodhana, Droṇa’s son, and Vikarna on one side, and by the five brothers and their allies on the other. Then began the duel of Bhīṣma and Arjuna.

Bhīṣma pierced Arjuna with nine arrows; Arjuna returned ten that struck deep into the grandsire’s armour. Then, with a thousand arrows flashing like lightning, Arjuna enveloped Bhīṣma. The son of Śantanu countered them all with a thousand more, weaving an arrow-net so dense that the sun seemed hidden.

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So equal were they in strength and skill that neither gained advantage. Flights of arrows met midair, splintered, and fell like rain. At times both became invisible behind their storm of shafts; at times they shone forth again, radiant and smiling, as if in play.

Then Bhīṣma struck Keśava between the breasts with three keen shafts. The Slayer of Madhu, shining under their touch, looked like a red-flowered kiṃśuka tree in spring. Arjuna, angered, pierced the charioteer of Bhīṣma with three arrows, and the two cars circled, advancing and retreating with the grace of dancers, their charioteers displaying divine mastery.

Conch answered conch, bow twanged to bow,

Wheel roared to wheel, like thunder’s twin;

The trembling earth, the heaving plain—

It seemed the gods themselves peered in.

None could detect a flaw in either warrior’s aim or courage. Each mirrored the other’s prowess, equal in might and glory. To the Kauravas, Bhīṣma’s banner was the beacon of safety; to the Pāṇḍavas, Arjuna’s flag bearing the roaring ape was the sign of hope.

The gods, Gandharvas, and Ṛṣis looked on in awe and said:

“Behold! When these two are roused to wrath,

Not gods, nor Asuras, nor Gandharvas could subdue them.

Never shall such a battle be seen again—

Equal in skill, in splendour, and in soul.”

Thus they praised both—the river-born Bhīṣma and the diademed son of Pāṇḍu. And while these two supreme archers contended,

the warriors around them—Kaurava and Pāṇḍava alike—

fell in heaps, cleft by axe and sword, pierced by arrow and spear.

The plain of Kurukṣetra flowed crimson beneath the setting sun,

and amid that sea of death, Bhīṣma and Arjuna still shone like twin suns unsetting.

Day sank upon the bloodied sand,

Yet neither yielded, neither fell;

Their arrows sang the song of Time—

Of war, of fate, of heaven and hell.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“Tell me, O Sañjaya, how Droṇa, that great bowman, and the Pāñcāla prince, son of Pṛṣata, met each other in battle—each striving his utmost. For I deem destiny stronger than effort. If even the mighty Bhīṣma, enraged in battle, could not escape the son of Pāṇḍu, how shall man withstand fate? That ocean of arms, who could have destroyed all creatures if he willed, was yet held back by destiny. Tell me, then, what passed between Droṇa and Dṛṣṭadyumna.”

Sañjaya said:

Listen, O King, with patience to this dreadful encounter—terrific as the onset of Death himself. The son of Pāṇḍu, O Bhārata, is one whom even the gods with Indra cannot vanquish.

Droṇa, towering in might and wrath, fitted sharp arrows to his bow and pierced Dṛṣṭadyumna, felling the prince’s charioteer from his seat. Four keen shafts struck his horses next, and the steeds of the Pāñcāla lord staggered and reared like wounded serpents.

But Dṛṣṭadyumna, steadfast amid that tempest, pierced the son of Bharadvāja with nine swift arrows, and cried aloud:

“Wait, O Brāhmaṇa! Wait, preceptor mine!

Today I repay the debt of birth—

From thy hand I sprang, ordained for this—

Thy pupil’s shaft shall test thy worth!”

Then Droṇa, immeasurable in soul, answered not with words but with deeds. He drew his bow to its full compass and covered Dṛṣṭadyumna in a rain of arrows so dense that day itself seemed veiled. From his quiver he drew a dreadful shaft, terrible as the rod of Death, bright as the bolt of Śakra, and aimed it straight at Pṛṣata’s son.

At that sight, cries of “Alas! Woe!” rose from every side, for all deemed the Pāñcāla slain.

But Dṛṣṭadyumna stood firm—

immovable as a mountain struck by wind—

and with wondrous swiftness cut that fatal arrow in mid-air,

breaking it to splinters with his own keen shaft.

Then he sent back a torrent of arrows upon his foe,

like rain-clouds bursting upon a hill.

The armies of the Pāñcālas and Pāṇḍavas shouted aloud in joy,

their voices swelling over the din of battle.

Then the prince of Pṛṣata’s line, wrathful and aflame,

seized a golden dart adorned with lapis lazuli and hurled it at Droṇa,

shining like a meteor cleaving the sky.

But smiling, Droṇa loosed three swift arrows—

Bright, precise, and sure in aim—

They smote the dart and broke it thrice,

Its fragments vanished in golden flame.

Beholding his weapon baffled, Dṛṣṭadyumna drew again his bow and poured down a shower of arrows thick as summer rain. Droṇa, with perfect composure, countered each shaft and, taking his chance, cut off the bow of the Pāñcāla prince.

Then the son of Drupada, furious, seized a heavy mace bright as mountain ore and hurled it at Droṇa’s car.

But the preceptor, agile and unerring,

turned aside his chariot with such lightness that the mace whirled past him and fell harmless.

In return, he shot a line of arrows sharp as razors,

piercing Dṛṣṭadyumna’s mail so that his blood streamed down like liquid rubies.

The high-souled prince, crimsoned and fierce, took up another bow,

and with five well-aimed shafts struck his teacher once more.

Both warriors, bleeding and radiant, seemed like twin kiṃśuka trees

blossoming in the springtime of destruction.

Again Droṇa bent his mighty bow,

Again the string sang like thunder’s roll;

He cut his pupil’s weapon low,

And clouded him in shafts as whole.

Then, smiting the charioteer from his seat

and slaying his four steeds with as many arrows,

Droṇa roared like a lion.

He next struck the prince’s arm-guard,

shearing away its leathern fence with a single shaft.

Bowless, horseless, and charioteerless, Dṛṣṭadyumna leapt to the ground with a mace in hand, his eyes burning with fury. But ere his feet touched the soil, Droṇa shattered that mace with a flight of arrows, its fragments glittering like sparks from a struck anvil.

All who saw it marveled, calling it a wonder. Then the mighty prince, strong-armed and unyielding, seized a broad shield studded with a hundred moons and a curved sword gleaming like lightning. Rushing forward, he looked like a lion springing upon a maddened elephant in the jungle.

But Droṇa’s skill, subtle as the wind,

Met blade and shield with storming art;

His arrows wove a silver web

That held the prince and stayed his heart.

The Pāñcāla could advance no further.

Standing his ground, he whirled his shield deftly,

warding off the ceaseless rain of steel that poured from Droṇa’s bow.

The contest was like that of storm and mountain,

each unyielding to the other’s force.

Then Bhīma, strong as ten thousand elephants, seeing the Pāñcāla prince hard pressed, rushed to his aid. With seven keen arrows he struck Droṇa, and swiftly had Dṛṣṭadyumna lifted onto another chariot. Beholding this, Duryodhana called out to the ruler of the Kaliṅgas, ordering him to protect Droṇa. Then a mighty division of the Kaliṅgas, their armour gleaming like molten iron, charged roaring upon Bhīma.

Droṇa, leaving the field strewn with chariot parts and corpses,

turned aside to engage Drupada and Virāṭa together,

while Dṛṣṭadyumna sped to guard King Yudhiṣṭhira.

And there began a furious and terrible battle

between Bhīma and the vast host of the Kaliṅgas—

a battle so dreadful that the very world seemed to tremble.

The ground was fire, the sky was storm,

The sun was veiled by dust and flame;

Men met their fate in shifting form—

None could recall from whence he came.

Thus ended the fierce encounter between master and disciple on that first great day— Droṇa, the bow divine, and Dṛṣṭadyumna, born for his fall.