novelraw Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Duryodhana Humbled
Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 4 - Duryodhana Humbled
Sañjaya said:
Then Abhimanyu, the son of Arjuna—swift, radiant, and fierce in his youth—joined with Bhīmasena and pressed hard upon thy sons. Their chariots rolled like thunderclouds across the plain, their bows flashing with lightning shafts. Seeing the son of Subhadrā united with Vṛkodara and the valiant son of Pṛṣata amid the Kaurava ranks, Duryodhana and the mighty warriors of thy host—Karna, Duhśāsana, Vikarna, and others—took up their great bows and rushed toward them with the speed of storm-driven winds.
That afternoon, O King, saw a battle dreadful to behold. The cries of warriors mingled with the neighs of steeds, the trumpets of elephants, and the clangor of arms. The sky darkened beneath the rain of arrows; the earth quaked beneath the charge of elephants and cars.
Abhimanyu, burning with wrath, pierced Vikarna with twenty-five keen shafts and slew his steeds, so that the prince of Kuru stood bereft of motion. Mounting swiftly upon the car of his brother Chitrasena, the two warriors fought side by side, their bows drawn to the ear, their shafts falling like twin storms upon the son of Arjuna.
But Abhimanyu, unshaken as Mount Meru struck by lightning, endured their arrows without tremor. Then Duhśāsana, roaring like a lion, engaged the five Kekaya brothers, while the sons of Draupadī, inflamed with rage, surrounded Duryodhana.
Arrows flew like serpents of flame,
each cry a trumpet of despair;
gold-feathered shafts lit sky and plain,
and blood was incense on the air.
The princes clashed like suns that meet
upon the rim of dying day;
red as dawn was Duryodhana’s seat,
bright as fire his armor’s ray.
Duryodhana, pierced by the five sons of Draupadī with sharp arrows, struck each of them in turn; their blood mingled on the field like red rain upon stone. Yet they stood firm, and he, drenched in his own blood, shone like a crimson mountain with rivulets streaming down its breast.
Meanwhile, Bhīṣma, lion of the Kurus, smote the Pāṇḍava host as a herdsman goads his scattered cattle, his bow resounding like the voice of Time itself. Then, O Monarch, the twang of Gāṇḍīva was heard—the fierce, eternal music of Arjuna’s wrath. On the right flank of the army, the son of Pāṇḍu moved like death incarnate, and where his shafts fell, men perished by thousands.
Headless trunks stood upright amid the dust, still grasping weapons; elephants rolled in blood, their towers shattered; steeds plunged riderless through the mire of corpses. The ground became an ocean of crimson foam—its currents the torrents of arrows, its islands the bodies of elephants, its waves the plunging steeds, its boats the broken chariots of heroes.
A sea of war—its waters blood,
its winds the breath of mortal pain;
its shore the twilight’s fading flood,
its stars the fire of warriors slain.
None turned back, none fled in fear,
no heart was faint, no spirit weak;
for glory’s flame, so bright, so near,
burned higher than the breath they seek.
Thus fought the mighty of both hosts, O King—Kaurava and Pāṇḍava alike—each seeking victory, each desiring death before dishonor. The earth herself groaned beneath their fury, and heaven looked on in silence, veiled with smoke and sorrow.
Sañjaya said:
When the sun glowed red in the western sky and the day drew toward its fiery end, thy son Duryodhana, his heart burning with vengeance, urged his steeds forward and rushed toward Bhīmasena, longing to slay him.
Beholding the Kuru prince advancing, proud and wrathful as a storm-charged cloud, Bhīma, his eyes kindled like molten fire, laughed aloud and spoke fiercely:
“At last the hour I have awaited through years of grief hath come!
O son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, today I shall break thy pride,
and end the long sorrow of Kuntī and Draupadī,
and avenge the tears of the forest exile.
Drunk with arrogance, thou didst mock the sons of Pāṇḍu,
scorning our pleas, our patience, and the word of Keśava himself.
By the counsel of Karṇa and the guile of Śakuni
thou didst weave deceit, and despatch thy messenger Ulūka with taunts.
Behold today the fruit of that sin ripened on the field—
for by mine arm thou shalt fall, and with thee all thy kin!”
Thus thundering, Bhīma bent his mighty bow, its string creaking like the sound of doom. He loosed six and thirty arrows—blazing, swift, and bright as tongues of lightning—and they struck like thunderbolts. Two cut Duryodhana’s bow; two smote his charioteer; four slew his steeds. With other shafts Bhīma struck the royal umbrella and cleft it from its shaft; with three more he sheared the bright standard of the Kuru host.
The jeweled banner, bearing the device of the elephant, fell glittering to the ground like a star torn from the heavens. At the sight, Bhīma gave a great roar that shook the hearts of men.
Then, smiling grimly, he pierced Duryodhana with ten keen shafts, as an elephant-driver goads a maddened tusker with his hook.
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Seeing the king sore wounded, Jayadratha and the Sindhu warriors formed on his flank, while Kṛpa, the wise preceptor, lifted the fainting prince upon his own car. Duryodhana, bathed in blood, sank down upon the terrace of that chariot like a wounded tiger licking his wounds.
Then Jayadratha, swelling with pride, encircled Bhīma with a host of chariots. Against him came Dṛṣṭaketu, Abhimanyu, the sons of Draupadī, and the valiant Kekayas—burning like forest fire upon the Kaurava ranks.
Abhimanyu, son of Subhadrā, loosed shafts that shone like the bolts of heaven; each one struck true, piercing thy sons and making them tremble as the Asuras trembled before Indra’s thunder.
He felled Vikarna’s standard with fourteen broad-headed arrows, slew his steeds, and smote his charioteer. The rest of thy sons, furious at their brother’s fall, rushed against him.
His bow flashed like the fire of Rudra’s wrath,
his arrows hissed like serpents through the air;
through armor, flesh, and bone they passed,
till Vikarna’s form was drenched in crimson flare.
The golden shafts, their feathers bright,
seemed living flames that drank of blood;
the earth was stained with crimson light—
a battlefield turned to a ruddy flood.
Durmukha, striking Śrutakarman, cut his banner and pierced his driver; but Śrutakarman hurled a blazing dart that tore through Durmukha’s mail. The valiant Sutasoma took him upon his own car.
Śrutakīrti met Jayatsena and was disarmed, his bow cut by a swift arrow. Then his brother Satanika, roaring like a lion, rushed forward and with ten keen shafts smote Jayatsena in the breast.
Dushkarṇa, nearby, shot and shivered Satanika’s bow, but the youth, seizing another, filled the sky with his arrows.
“Wait there, coward!” Satanika cried,
“and meet the shaft of Draupadī’s son!”
His arrows sang; Dushkarṇa died,
his charioteer and steeds undone.
Pierced through the chest by a broad-headed shaft, Dushkarṇa fell from his car like a tree riven by lightning. Beholding their brother slain, five of thy valiant sons closed round Satanika to slay him.
But the five Kekaya brothers, fierce as lions, came to his aid. Thy sons—Durmukha, Durjaya, young Durmarṣaṇa, Śatranjaya, and Śatrūṣa—met them head-on.
Their chariots shone like citadels, yoked with steeds adorned in gold. Bows twanged, lances gleamed, and the battle swelled fierce and fast; elephants and cars tangled together, and the plain became a chaos of death.
Twilight fell upon the field,
red as blood, and thick with dust;
and men who fought with hearts of steel
sank to the earth and turned to dust.
The cry of conches died away,
the light of heaven dimmed in flame;
and many a soul, at close of day,
passed silent to Yama’s name.
Bhīṣma, the son of Śāntanu, raged again like Death himself, loosing straight, pitiless shafts that swept through the ranks of the Pāñcālas. The ground was strewn with mangled elephants, slain warriors, and shattered cars.
At last, when night descended, the grandsire drew back his weary troops and withdrew to his encampment.
King Yudhiṣṭhira, beholding Dṛṣṭadyumna and mighty Bhīma safe and victorious, approached them with joy, smelled their heads in blessing, and, his heart eased of care, returned to his tent as the stars rose over the field of Kurukṣetra.
Sañjaya said:
When the sun burned crimson upon the rim of heaven, and the earth glowed like molten gold beneath its setting light, thy son Duryodhana—his heart kindled by wrath and pride—rushed toward Bhīmasena, yearning for battle and for vengeance.
Beholding the Kuru prince advancing, his chariot gleaming like a storm-cloud shot with lightning, Bhīma, towering in fury, spoke these words, his voice thundering across the field:
“Behold, O son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the hour I have long awaited!
The time hath come to end thy sin.
Today, if thou flee not this fight,
thou shalt meet thy doom by Bhīma’s hand.
Long hast thou mocked the sons of Pāṇḍu—
scorning Kṛṣṇa’s plea for peace,
trusting the deceit of Karṇa and Suvala’s son,
and sending thy taunts with Ulūka’s tongue.
Thou didst heap sorrow on Kuntī’s heart,
and fire upon Draupadī’s tears—
behold today, in war’s red blaze,
the harvest of thy evil years!”
Having spoken thus, Bhīma, whose wrath was like a tempest unchained, bent his bow till it groaned like thunder. He loosed six and thirty arrows blazing like lightning, each whistling through the air with the force of Indra’s bolt. Two pierced Duryodhana’s bow, two struck his charioteer, and four brought down his steeds—swift coursers of noble strain—sending them to Yama’s realm.
Then, with other shafts, Bhīma severed the royal umbrella and cleft the jeweled standard of the Kuru king. That radiant banner, bearing the emblem of the elephant, flashed as it fell, like a meteor torn from the heavens.
All the assembled kings beheld it fall, scattering gems upon the earth, while Bhīma laughed aloud—a roar that shook the hearts of men. Smiling grimly, he pierced Duryodhana with ten keen arrows, each biting deep like a driver’s hook into an elephant’s hide.
Then Jayadratha of the Sindhus, with hosts of warriors at his side, took position upon Duryodhana’s flank. Kṛpa, the wise and valiant, bore the wounded king upon his car. Duryodhana, pierced and bleeding, sank upon the terrace of that chariot like a lion struck by a hunter’s spear.
Seeing their leader thus stricken, the Kaurava princes gathered in rage. Jayadratha surrounded Bhīma with thousands of cars; yet before his wrath stood Dṛṣṭaketu, Abhimanyu of the radiant line, the Kekayas, and the sons of Draupadī—arrayed like fire encircling fire.
Then c, fierce as the child of lightning, smote them all. His arrows fell like the bolts of heaven, striking each prince with unerring aim. Unable to endure that storm, thy sons rained their shafts upon him like monsoon clouds pouring upon Meru’s crest.
But the son of Subhadrā, skilled in celestial arms, moved like a god amid their tempest; and as the thunder-wielder makes the Asuras quake, so did Abhimanyu shake the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra with his might.
He loosed fourteen broad-headed shafts, each shining like a serpent’s fang, and smote Vikarna, felling his standard, his steeds, and his charioteer. More arrows followed, bright as golden snakes, piercing Vikarna’s armor, passing through his body, and burying themselves in the earth. His blood flowed upon them till the shafts seemed to vomit crimson flame.
Beholding their brother thus wounded, the other sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra rushed together against Abhimanyu and his kin. Then arose a battle fierce and wondrous—each side blazing like suns in collision.
Durmukha struck Śrutakarman with five arrows, cutting down his banner and charioteer; but Śrutakarman, in wrath, hurled a shining dart that pierced Durmukha’s mail and sank into the earth, flaming like a meteor. Sutasoma, seeing his comrade unhorsed, lifted him onto his own car amid the watching hosts.
Śrutakīrti sped toward Jayatsena and was disarmed by a swift shaft; but Satanika, his brother, roared like a lion and struck Jayatsena with ten arrows. With one more he pierced his chest, and Jayatsena reeled upon his car. Dushkarṇa, burning with fury, cut Satanika’s bow, but the young warrior seized another, crying:
“Wait there, O Kaurava! Stand and fight!
Feel now the wrath of Draupadī’s son!”
Swiftly his arrows flew—one shearing Dushkarṇa’s bow, two felling his charioteer, seven piercing his mail. With twelve more he slew his steeds, and with a broad-headed shaft that glittered like lightning he struck Dushkarṇa through the chest. The Kaurava fell, lifeless, like a tree split by a thunderbolt.
Five other sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra closed round Satanika, loosing showers of arrows; but the five Kekaya brothers, fierce as tigers, came to his rescue. Against them advanced thy sons—Durmukha, Durjaya, the young Durmarṣaṇa, Śatranjaya, and Śatrūṣa—burning for battle.
Their chariots shone like golden citadels; their steeds, caparisoned in gems, galloped as though winged. The two sides met like colliding storms. The ground trembled; elephants and horses tangled; the air rang with the clash of bows.
Evening fell, red as blood;
the dying sun mirrored in the slain.
The earth drank deep of heroes’ flood,
and life ebbed swiftly from the plain.
Spears and banners choked the air,
the dust rose high to shroud the stars;
and Yama’s realm grew rich and fair
with the souls of men from Kurukṣetra’s wars.
Then Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, blazed again with fury. His arrows fell thick and straight, mowing down the hosts of the Pāñcālas and sending them to Yama’s abode. The earth quivered beneath his wrath.
At last, when the sun sank and darkness veiled the field, the grandsire withdrew his weary troops to the safety of his camp.
And King Yudhiṣṭhira, beholding Dṛṣṭadyumna and mighty Bhīma safe and victorious, came forth with joy, embraced them both, and—his heart eased of fear—returned to his tent beneath the quiet stars.