novelraw Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 3 - Bhīma Saved by Dṛṣṭadyumna
Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 3 - Bhīma Saved by Dṛṣṭadyumna
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
O Sañjaya, our army is vast and resplendent—its forces drawn from many lands, disciplined and strong, arrayed according to the sacred science of warfare. It is, in truth, an army of excellence, bound to us by loyalty, skilled in every weapon, and devoted to our cause with unwavering hearts.
Our warriors are neither too young nor too old; they are tempered by age and discipline, their limbs firm, their spirits high, their bodies free from ailment. Clad in mail and bearing shining arms, they are adept in sword and mace, in dart and javelin, in the quick thrust of the spear and the heavy blow of the club. None are raw in battle, none untested—they have been proved upon the field.
These soldiers, Sañjaya, were chosen not for lineage nor for favor, not for the ties of friendship or blood, but for merit, for strength, for skill. We have nourished them well, honored their kin, and rewarded their loyalty. They are men of renown, steadfast and of clear minds; and over them stand leaders of great prowess—heroes whose fame reaches the four quarters, protectors as mighty as the Guardians of the World.
From every direction, noble Kṣatriyas have gathered to our side of their own will, bringing their followers and their banners. Our army is an ocean without shore, its waters swollen by countless rivers of valor.
Behold, O Sañjaya, that boundless sea of war—
elephants its billows, chariots its foam;
warriors are its waters, restless and deep,
swords and lances its flashing waves.
Its banners rise like mountains high,
its golden mail the sunlit gleam;
steeds and tuskers in wild surge roll,
and drums resound like thunder’s roar.
Its breath is wind, its sound the storm,
its heart the wrath of heroes strong;
such is our host—vast, untamed, and fierce—
roaring upon the field like the ocean of doom.
It is guarded by Droṇa, by Bhīṣma of immeasurable might, by Kṛtavarman, by Kṛpa, by Duhśāsana and Jayadratha; by Bhagadatta, by Vikarna, by Droṇa’s son Aśvatthāman, by Śakuni son of Suvala, by Bāhlika and many other lords of earth whose power and fame resound across the world.
And yet—despite this strength, despite this splendor—our army is being consumed, O Sañjaya. So vast an ocean, raised by wealth and loyalty, and marshalled according to sacred rule, still falls before the sons of Pāṇḍu.
How can it be, save through the power of Fate?
No mortal strength can alter Time,
nor wisdom turn the will of Heaven.
Even as fire devours dry grass,
destiny burneth all resolve.
What was decreed by the Maker’s hand
must unfold as He ordains;
for when the thread is spun from on high,
no man may break its woven chain.
Alas, Sañjaya, all this is unnatural! Vidura, wise and faithful, had spoken words that were wholesome and good, but my wicked son, blinded by pride, heeded them not. Surely that far-seeing sage perceived what was to come. Yet, perhaps all was foreordained—each event, each fall, each cry upon the field—woven long ago by the hand of the Creator. What is destined must be; none may stand against it.
Sañjaya said:
O King, this ruin that hath overtaken thee is born of thine own doing. Thy sin hath ripened, and its fruit hath fallen upon thy house. The faults that thine own wisdom once foresaw in that unrighteous course—when dice were cast, and deceit prevailed—thy son Duryodhana would not see. It was through thy blindness that the game was played; it is through thy blindness that this war hath come.
As one who sows the seed of flame
shall reap the field of ash,
so he who plants the root of wrong
must gather ruin’s harvest rash.
The fruit of one’s own acts returns;
it follows as the shadow doth the form.
Bear thou, O King, what thou hast made—
for Fate fulfills the deed once born.
Be calm, then, O monarch, though calamity presseth upon thee. Listen, and I shall tell thee of the battle.
Bhīmasena, fierce as Death, broke through thy vast array with his shafts and came upon thy sons—the younger brothers of Duryodhana—Duhśāsana, Durmada, Durmarṣaṇa, Vikarna, Jaya, Jayasena, Chitrasena, Sudarśana, Charucitra, Suvarman, and others of proud might. The son of Pṛthā, seeing them before him, rushed upon them like the sun amidst evil stars at the world’s end.
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They closed around him, shouting, “Slay him! Slay Bhīma!” But in their midst he stood unmoved, as Indra stood unshaken among the Dānavas. Thousands of warriors, eager for his blood, rained arrows upon him till the sky grew dark. Yet Bhīma, scorning their shafts, leapt down from his car, mace in hand, and smote the sea of Dhārtarāṣṭra troops as a mountain crushes waves.
The earth rang beneath his tread,
the wind stood still in awe;
where his mace descended red,
life and armor broke in twain.
His roar was thunder, his wrath a storm,
his path the ruin of kings;
none could stand before that form—
Bhīma, lion of the Pāṇḍus’ line.
Meanwhile, Dṛṣṭadyumna, the son of Pṛṣata, forsook his duel with Droṇa and hastened to the place where Śakuni, son of Suvala, stood. Breaking through the ranks, he found the chariot of Bhīma empty and the charioteer, Viśoka, standing alone.
“Where is Bhīma, dear to me as life?” he cried in anguish.
And Viśoka answered, joining his palms,
“The mighty son of Pāṇḍu, O prince, bade me wait here. He hath gone alone into the ocean of the Kaurava host, saying, ‘Hold the reins, O charioteer, till I slay those who seek my death.’”
Hearing this, Dṛṣṭadyumna’s heart burned within him.
“What need have I of life,” said he,
“if I forsake my friend in war?
What will the Kṣatriyas say of me,
if Bhīma stand alone afar?
He who leaves his comrade so
is cursed by gods and men the same;
I go where Bhīma’s footsteps glow—
and win with him undying fame.”
So saying, he urged his steeds through the gap Bhīma had carved—through the wreckage of elephants crushed by the mace. There he beheld Bhīma raging like the storm-god amid uprooted trees—felling kings, elephants, and steeds, while the earth trembled beneath him.
Thy sons and their warriors, beholding Vṛkodara thus, closed round him again, covering him with arrows. But Dṛṣṭadyumna, seeing the son of Pāṇḍu standing amid the foe, mangled yet fearless, ran to him, lifted him upon his car, drew forth the arrows from his flesh, and embraced him. Thus did the prince of Pāñcāla comfort Bhīmasena in the heart of battle.
Then thy son Duryodhana, beholding them together, said unto his brothers:
“The son of Drupada hath joined Bhīma. Let us go against them both—let them not bring the battle into our midst!”
At his call, the Dhārtarāṣṭra princes, fierce as comets loosed from the heavens, rushed together with bows that made the earth quake. They rained arrows on Dṛṣṭadyumna like clouds pouring rain upon a mountain.
But the son of Drupada, skilled in every weapon, unmoved amid the storm, drew the weapon called Pramohana, the spell of stupefaction.
He loosed it with a roar like thunder,
and madness seized thy sons;
their eyes grew dark, their senses fled—
the field was filled with cries and groans.
Horses reeled, and chariots swayed,
the warriors fled like deer in fright;
for Dṛṣṭadyumna’s mystic blade
had veiled their minds in dreamless night.
Then Droṇa, mighty master of arms, hearing that thy sons were fallen senseless, left his place and hastened to their aid. On the way he met king Drupada and, remembering their ancient feud, struck him with three arrows so fierce that the Pāñcāla lord withdrew from battle.
Blowing his conch, Droṇa filled thy men with joy and the Somakas with dread. Then, arriving where thy sons lay stupefied, he took up the weapon Prajñā, the spell of awakening, and dispelled the trance cast by Dṛṣṭadyumna. Thy princes rose, dazed but living, and returned to battle once more.
Seeing this, Yudhiṣṭhira, uneasy of heart, said to his warriors:
“Let twelve heroes, led by Subhadrā’s son, follow the path of Bhīma and Dṛṣṭadyumna, for my soul is troubled for them.”
Then Abhimanyu, the Kaikeyas, the sons of Draupadī, and Dṛṣṭaketu, all arrayed in the Suchimukha formation, pierced the Kaurava ranks like a spear through armor. Thy troops, terrified by Bhīma’s rage and Dṛṣṭadyumna’s magic, scattered like leaves before the gale.
They reached the two heroes, who rejoiced at their coming. But then Droṇa, rising once again in wrath, cut off Dṛṣṭadyumna’s bow and slew his horses and charioteer. The prince leapt upon Abhimanyu’s car, and together they stood against the preceptor’s might.
Droṇa, blazing like a sun of destruction, smote the Pāṇḍava host with unending shafts; elephants, steeds, and cars reeled beneath his storm. The Pāṇḍava ranks broke and swirled like an agitated sea, and thy warriors, beholding this, raised cries of triumph and praise for Droṇa, the invincible.
Thus raged the tide of battle,
now light, now darkness spread;
as Dharma’s sons and Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s kin
strove on the field of red.
Fate moved unseen between their lines,
weaving death with a silent hand;
for none may halt the thread of Time—
nor king, nor hero, nor the land.
Sañjaya said:
Then, O King, thy son Duryodhana, recovering his senses, took up his mighty bow once more and poured showers of arrows upon Bhīmasena. Around him gathered his brothers—valiant princes, blazing with wrath, resolved to stand or perish beside their lord.
Bhīma, of terrible deeds and strength, having recovered his chariot, mounted it swiftly and advanced like a storm upon them. Taking up a great bow—strong, well-strung, and tipped with gold—he drew it to his ear and loosed shafts that hissed like serpents of fire.
His bow sang like the wind in wrath,
his arrows burned like tongues of flame;
each shaft that flew from Bhīma’s hand
bore death upon its gleaming name.
Against him rose the sons of the king,
roaring like lions before the storm;
but none could break the iron ring
of Bhīma’s might, his battle form.
Then Duryodhana, enraged, bent his own great bow and struck the son of Pāṇḍu full in the vitals with a long, keen arrow. That shaft, O monarch, shone like lightning striking a cloud, and the wound smoked as if with fire.
But Bhīma, unfaltering, drew his bow with arms like living steel and, with eyes red as embers, sent three fierce shafts that pierced Duryodhana’s breast and both his arms. Blood darkened his armor, yet the Kuru prince stood unmoved, proud and firm as a mountain struck by the tempest.
Seeing these two mighty heroes—each blazing with fury, their arrows crossing like fire and lightning—thy other sons, noble and fierce, remembered their vow to fell Vṛkodara, and rushed upon him together.
Bhīma beheld them coming, a host of brothers united in wrath. Then he laughed aloud and spurred his steeds, rushing like a maddened elephant against a herd that dares him.
He smote Chitrasena with a long shaft that tore through armor and flesh; he struck others—Jaya, Sudarśana, and Suvarman—with arrows winged in gold and tipped with death. Each blow flashed like a streak of fire across the dusk of battle.
Arrows flew like a storm of flame,
the sky was veiled in smoke and cry;
the blood of princes dyed the plain,
the wind bore echoes of their sigh.
Still Bhīma fought with tireless might,
his bow a thunder in his hand;
before his wrath the Kauravas quailed—
a forest scorched by living brand.
Then king Yudhiṣṭhira, ever watchful, beheld his brother deep amidst the foe. He quickly ordered twelve mighty car-warriors—Abhimanyu, the sons of Draupadī, and the lords of the Kaikeyas—to follow behind Bhīmasena, guarding his path like bright stars following the moon.
Those warriors, radiant as the midday sun, rushed forward with bows uplifted and armor of gold. The glint of their ornaments filled the field like the gleam of fire across the sea.
Beholding them thus advancing—heroes of flawless beauty and blazing valor—thy sons, O King, quailed in their hearts. Abandoning their combat with Bhīma, they turned their chariots away.
But the sons of Kuntī, seeing this retreat of the princes of Hastināpura, burned with rage and could not endure that they had fled the fight alive.
“Not thus shall the children of Pāṇḍu see
the foe escape from battle’s breath;
let the Kurus learn,” they cried, “that we
are sons of war, whose sire is death.”