novelraw Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 9 - Duryodhana Doubts Bhisma
Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 9 - Duryodhana Doubts Bhisma
Sañjaya said:
After that great rout, O King, Duryodhana approached the son of Gaṅgā, bowed with humility, and told him all—how Ghaṭotkaca had turned the tide and how he himself had been forced back in defeat. Again and again he sighed, and speaking to Bhīṣma, grandsire of the Kurus, he said that relying upon him—as the sons of Pāṇḍu relied upon Vāsudeva—he had ventured on this fierce war; that eleven akṣauhiṇīs stood at his command; and yet, though thus arrayed, he had been broken by the Pāṇḍavas under Bhīmasena, leaning upon the Rākṣasa’s might. “This burns my limbs like fire on dry wood,” he said, and begged leave to slay that ‘worst of Rākṣasas’ with Bhīṣma’s invincible support.
“When faith is fixed on elder’s grace,
The heart will rush to danger’s face;
But if defeat consumes like flame,
Seek counsel first, not reckless fame.”
Hearing him, Bhīṣma, foremost of the Bharatas, spoke gravely, “Listen, O son of Kuru. In battle, under all conditions, a man must guard his own life. A king should strike a king—therefore meet Yudhiṣṭhira the Just, or Arjuna, or the twins, or Bhīmasena, but never cast thyself away in folly. I, and Droṇa, and Kṛpa, and the son of Droṇa, and Kṛtavarman of the Sātvatas, and Śalya, and Somadatta’s son, and Vikarna, and thy heroic brothers headed by Duḥśāsana—we shall engage that mighty Rākṣasa for thy sake. Or, if thy grief for that fierce prince is too great, let King Bhagadatta—peer of Purandara in fight—go forth against him.”
“Keep duty bright before thine eyes;
Let kings with kings in valor rise.
Entrust the fiend to hands of flame—
Bhagadatta shall curb his fame.”
Thus instructed, the grandsire addressed Bhagadatta in the assembly: “Great monarch, advance against the invincible son of Hiḍimbā. Resist him in the sight of all, as once Indra resisted Tāraka. Thy weapons are celestial, thy prowess proven in ancient wars with Asuras. Well supported by thine own, strike down that bull among Rākṣasas.”
Hearing Bhīṣma, the generalissimo, the ruler of Pragjyotiṣa set forth with a leonine roar upon his elephant Supratīka. He came like a bank of thunderclouds; and many foremost Pandava warriors, wrath enkindled, moved to meet him—Bhīmasena, Abhimanyu, Ghaṭotkaca, the sons of Draupadī, Satyadhṛti, Kṣatradeva, the lords of the Cedis, Vasudāna, and the king of the Daśārṇas.
Then rose a fearful battle. Arrows of terrible energy flew from chariot to chariot, striking elephants and cars alike. Huge tuskers, temples streaming, met breast to breast, stabbing with bludgeon-tusks and trampling in blind fury. Swift-tailed steeds, their riders couched in lances, crashed together. Footmen fell by hundreds beneath darts and pikes; car-warriors, loosing barbed shafts and thunder-flashing missiles, shouted lion-cries as brave foes dropped from their standards.
Bhagadatta, towering on Supratīka whose seven streams of ichor flowed like mountain rills after rain, drove straight at Bhīmasena and smote him with an arrow-squall like clouds spilling torrents upon the slopes. Enraged, Bhīma’s countershowers slew a hundred guards that screened the elephant’s flanks and rear. Seeing his protectors fall, the Pragjyotiṣa king urged his prince of elephants forward like a loosed arrow at Bhīma’s car. Then the Kekaya princes, Abhimanyu, the sons of Draupadī, the Daśārṇa lord, Kṣatradeva, the Cedi ruler, and Citraketu closed in, circling the single beast with blazing weapons.
Pierced by many shafts, Supratīka, gore-washed, shone like a crimson-streaked peak after rain. The Daśārṇa king, mounted upon an elephant like a moving hill, rushed to meet him; but Supratīka bore that onset as the continent bears the sea’s assault. The Pandava ranks applauded that resistance; then Bhagadatta, angered, sped fourteen lances that pierced the Daśārṇa’s armor as serpents dart into ant-hills. Pained and quelled, the beast wheeled and fled, shrieking, crushing the Pandava lines like a gale toppling trees.
The Pandavas rallied with leonine cries, Bhīma at their fore, streaming diverse missiles toward Bhagadatta. Hearing the thunder of their wrath, the great bowman, fearless, drove his elephant harder; and Supratīka, goaded by hook and heel, became like the Samvarta fire at Yuga’s end—crushing cars, steeds with riders, and footmen by thousands. The Pandava host shrank as wet hide shrivels in flame.
Then Ghaṭotkaca, fierce of face and eyes like coals, rushed upon him, wrath enkindled. Assuming a terrible guise, he snatched a radiant dart capable of riving hills and hurled it, fire streaming, to slay the elephant. The Pragjyotiṣa king, swift and steadfast, clipped that flying flame with a crescent-head, and the sundered, gold-bright spear fell earthward like Indra’s cleaving bolt.
Bhagadatta seized a great javelin with golden shaft and cast it crying “Stay! Stay!” The Rākṣasa leapt, caught it mid-flight, and, setting it against his knee, broke it before the gathered kings. The celestials above, Gandharvas and ṛṣis with them, marveled at that deed; and the Pandavas, led by Bhīmasena, filled the field with cries of praise.
A spear of fire down-cleft in air,
A golden shaft in demon’s snare;
Knee to steel, and steel to dust—
The heavens gasped in wordless trust.
Stung by their shouts, Bhagadatta drew his great bow that blazed like the Thunderer’s bolt and loosed bright, keen shafts. He struck Bhīma with one, the Rākṣasa with nine; Abhimanyu with three; the Kekayas with five. A straight arrow, drawn to the ear, pierced Kṣatradeva’s right arm so that his bow, arrow nocked, fell from his hand. He smote the five sons of Draupadī with five keen points; he slew Bhīma’s steeds in wrath; with three feathers severed Bhīma’s lion-banner; with three more he pierced Viśoka, Bhīma’s charioteer, so that the wounded driver sank upon the car-floor.
Deprived of his chariot, Bhīma sprang earthward, mace uplifted like a crested mountain peak; and fear took thy host at the sight.
Just then, O King, that son of Pāṇḍu whose charioteer is Kṛṣṇa drew near, scything the foe as he came, to the place where Bhīmasena and Ghaṭotkaca strove with the lord of Pragjyotiṣa. Beholding his brothers engaged, he poured forth a ceaseless rain of arrows.
Duryodhana, meanwhile, whipped forward a division crowded with cars and elephants; and against that pressing mass, the son of Pāṇḍu with white steeds surged to meet them. Bhagadatta, still crushing the Pandava ranks upon his elephant, drove hard at Yudhiṣṭhira; and a fierce combat flared between him and the Pañcālas, the Śṛñjayas, and the Kekayas with weapons upraised.
Then, in the tumult, Bhīmasena told Keśava and the son of Pāṇḍu in detail of Irāvat’s fall, as the slaughter had occurred.
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Brother to brother, grief to word,
The tale of fallen kin was heard;
War rolled on like thunder’s flood—
Each name a star, each star in blood.
Sañjaya said:
Hearing that his son Irāvat had fallen, Dhanañjaya was seized with grief and drew a breath like an angered serpent. In the midst of battle he spoke to Mādhava, “Without doubt, high-souled Vidura foresaw with the mind’s eye this dreadful ruin of Kurus and Pāṇḍavas; therefore did he restrain Dhṛtarāṣṭra. For the sake of wealth, O slayer of Madhu, many heroes on both sides have been cut down; fie upon that wealth which demands the blood of kindred. Better death for the man without riches than riches purchased by slaughter of kinsmen. What gain is there, O Kṛṣṇa, in butchering our assembled race? Through the fault of Duryodhana, and the crooked counsel of Śakuni and Karṇa, the Kṣatriyas are being swept away. Now I know the king was wise who asked of Suyodhana but half the realm—or even five villages. Not even that was granted. Seeing brave princes strewn upon the earth, I reproach the Kṣatriya calling. They will think me powerless; for that alone do I press this war. Otherwise, battle with kin is bitter to my heart. Drive on, O Mādhava; I will cross this ocean of war with my two arms. There is no time to lose.”
“Gold that glitters drinks our line,
Fame turns ash on slaughter’s shrine;
Five small villages denied—
Behold a world in crimson dyed.”
Thus urged, Keśava lashed the white steeds swift as the wind. A roar rose from thy host, O Bhārata, like the full sea under tempest. In the afternoon the clash between Bhīṣma and the Pāṇḍavas thundered like storm-clouds. Then thy sons, circling Droṇa as the Vasus circle Vāsava, rushed upon Bhīmasena. And Śāntanu’s son, with Kṛpa, Bhagadatta, and Suśarmā, moved to check Dhanañjaya. Kṛtavarman and Vāhlīka fell upon Sātyaki, while King Amvāṣṭha faced Abhimanyu. Elsewhere, great car-warriors closed with peers, and a terrible fight began.
Bhīmasena, beholding thy sons, blazed like a sacrificial fire fed with ghee. They drenched him with arrows as monsoon clouds drench the mountain. Licking the corners of his mouth like a tiger, the son of Kuntī struck Vyūḍhoraska with a horse-shoe-headed shaft and the prince fell lifeless. With a broad-headed arrow he brought down Kuṇḍalin as a lion drops a lesser beast. Seizing a sheaf of well-tempered shafts, he smote in swift succession—and thy sons, mighty car-warriors, tumbled from their seats: Anādhṛti, Kuṇḍabhedin, Vīrata, Dīrghalocana, Dīrghabāhu, Suvāhu, and Kanyākādhyāja. As they fell, they shone like mango trees heavy with spring blossoms torn down by wind. The rest fled, seeing Vṛkodara as Death himself.
Droṇa, then, like a rain-lord, wrapped Bhīma round with arrows; yet Bhīma bore that shower as a bull bears rain and slew thy sons even while held in check. Wonderful was Vṛkodara’s feat, O King—slaying princes beneath the preceptor’s storm, roaming among them like a great tiger in a herd of deer, scattering them as a wolf scatters timid flocks.
Meanwhile, Bhīṣma, Bhagadatta, and Gautama’s son resisted the impetuous Arjuna. That atiratha foiled their weapons and sent champions of thy army to Death’s abode. Abhimanyu, too, with keen shafts, unhorsed King Amvāṣṭha; the shamed monarch leapt down and hurled his sword, but Subhadrā’s son, quick as thought, baffled that whirling blade and it fell harmless. The hosts cried “Well done!” and the press of battle swelled—Dhṛṣṭadyumna against thy chiefs, and thy chiefs upon the Pāṇḍavas—until men grappled by the hair and fought with nails, teeth, fists, knees, palms, and steel. Fathers struck down sons, and sons struck down fathers; each limb became a weapon, and every stroke sent souls to Yama’s gate.
Helms like moons lay dimmed in dust,
Ivory-handled sabres rust;
Gold-winged arrows, oil-bright, strewn—
Serpents shed beneath a moon.
Across the plain lay bows with golden staves torn from dead hands; ornaments loosened; feathers and silver-winged shafts gleaming like shed skins of snakes. Shields with gilded bosses, bearded darts and axes, javelins bright with gold, coats of mail, bludgeons and spiked clubs, short arrows, and the iron crow—every engine of death lay mixed with broken housings of elephants, yak-tails and fans, ranku-skins and many-hued blankets. Warriors sprawled as if alive, weapons still at hand though life had fled; others groaned low, the earth drinking their blood. Arms smeared with sandal and ringed with bracers, thighs like elephant trunks, heads adorned with jewels and earrings—thus the field glittered like a firmament spangled with planets and stars. The ground, dyed with blood, lit by the sheen of mail and gold, seemed speckled with small and gentle fires. Broken cars with rows of bells, white conches of great heroes, trunks of elephants, and tuskers pierced and moaning like moving hills—such was the dreadful beauty of that place.
Standards fallen, banners torn,
Drums lie dumb, and trumpets shorn;
Crimson earth and moon-pale shell—
War’s own garland, woven hell.
So, O Bhārata, the two hosts ground each other down. When the fighters were spent, routed, and crushed, night—thick and sightless—descended, and no man could mark his foe. Then both Kurus and Pāṇḍavas drew off and returned to their tents, and, under that awful darkness, they took their rest.
Sañjaya said:
After the day’s slaughter, O King, Duryodhana, stricken by doubt and weary of defeat, gathered for counsel with Śakuni the son of Suvala, Duḥśāsana his brother, and the son of a charioteer—Karṇa, fierce in wrath and speech. Within his tent they sat like dark clouds before the storm, seeking a way to subdue the sons of Pāṇḍu and their unyielding hosts.
Then Duryodhana spoke, grief and anger mingling in his breast: “Droṇa, Bhīṣma, Kṛpa, Śalya, and Somadatta’s son—they do not strike the Pāṇḍavas with all their might. I know not why. The sons of Kuntī slay my men unhurt, while my strength wanes and my weapons fail. The Pāṇḍavas deceive me—those heroes whom even the gods could scarce subdue. My mind is torn by doubt—how shall I prevail against them?”
Unto him, O Monarch, the Sūta’s son replied with fiery confidence: “Grieve not, O scion of Bharata. I will do what pleases thee. Let the grandsire, son of Śāntanu, soon retire from battle. When Bhīṣma lays down his arms, I will slay the Pārthas and all the Somakas before his very eyes. This I pledge in truth. Daily Bhīṣma shows mercy toward the sons of Pāṇḍu; he cannot vanquish them, though his pride is to display his valor. Fond of fight, he yet spares them, and while he stands, the war endures. Go then, O King, and beseech him to lay down his arms. Once he withdraws, the Pāṇḍavas and their kin are slain already—by me alone.”
“While mercy tames the lion’s claw,
The prey escapes the hunter’s law;
When Bhīṣma’s bow in silence sleeps,
Thy foes shall fall in crimson heaps.”
Hearing these words, Duryodhana turned to his brother: “Let all my followers array themselves in royal state. Delay not.” And to Karṇa he said, “When Bhīṣma consents to retire, I shall come to thee without pause. Then shalt thou strike the foe and end this war.”
So saying, the prince of the Kurus rose and set forth, surrounded by his brethren like the wielder of a hundred sacrifices encircled by the gods. Duḥśāsana brought his steed, strong and adorned with golden trappings. Duryodhana, graced with armlets and diadem, smeared with sandal-paste of golden hue, radiant as the midday Sun, mounted and rode forth through the streets.
The lion’s gait marked his stride; and mighty bowmen, famed through the world, followed behind. His brothers walked in his train, as the celestials follow Indra; and others on steeds, elephants, and cars formed ranks about him. Loyal warriors bearing weapons came in throngs to guard their king, as the immortals surround Śakra in heaven.
The Kuru chief, honored on all sides, went towards Bhīṣma’s quarters, often raising his elephantine arm in greeting. Those that stood along his path joined their hands in homage; and he heard songs of praise from bards and eulogists who extolled his valor. Lamps of gold, fed with fragrant oil, shone on either side; and surrounded by their glow, he appeared like the Moon attended by the stars.
Guards with gilded headgear and staffs cleared his way, and the streets echoed softly with drum and conch. Arriving at Bhīṣma’s tent, the king dismounted, bowed deeply, and entered.
Within, he beheld the grandsire—calm, white-haired, seated upon his couch like the blazing fire subdued in ashes. Taking a golden seat before him, covered with rich cloth, Duryodhana folded his hands and spoke with a trembling voice and tears that dimmed his eyes:
“On thee, O slayer of foes, we built our trust,
To conquer gods and demons, if we must.
How then shall Pāṇḍu’s sons endure,
While Gaṅgā’s child stands firm and pure?
Have mercy, sire! Thy promise keep—
Strike down the sons who wake no sleep.
The Somakas and Pañcālas—slay;
Make true the oath thou gav’st that day.
But if for love of them, O King,
Or scorn of me, thy wrath takes wing—
Then let Karṇa, that star of might,
Arise and end the Pārthas’ light.”
Having spoken thus, Duryodhana fell silent, his lips pressed tight, awaiting the grandsire’s reply—his hope resting upon that aged warrior whose will alone could yet decide the fate of kings.