novelraw Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 13 - Bhisma’s Means of death
Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 13 - Bhisma’s Means of death
Sañjaya said:
While they contended, the sun went down, O Bhārata, and the dreadful hour of twilight smothered sight; the battle could no longer be discerned. King Yudhiṣṭhira, seeing his own troops—broken by Bhīṣma, casting aside their weapons, fleeing in fear—and beholding the grandsire himself raging like a storm among the Somakas, reflected briefly and ordered a general withdrawal. Thy forces also, at the same moment, were called back. Thus the mighty car-warriors, mangled and weary, entered their tents. The Pāṇḍavas, pierced by Bhīṣma’s shafts and brooding on his terrible prowess, found no peace of mind. Bhīṣma, having routed the Pāṇḍavas and Śṛñjayas, was worshiped by thy sons and entered his pavilion amid Kuru rejoicing. Night then came, that thief of senses. In that fierce darkness the Pāṇḍavas, the Vṛṣṇis, and the steadfast Śṛñjayas sat in council, cool in deliberation though scorched by defeat.
Yudhiṣṭhira spoke, his gaze resting on Vāsudeva: “Behold, O Kṛṣṇa, Bhīṣma of untamed might. He crushes my host as an elephant crushes reeds. We dare not look upon him; like a blazing conflagration he licks up my ranks. When wrath seizes him and the bow sings in his hand, he seems Takṣaka, poison-pure. Yama may be stayed, or Vāsava bearing the thunder, or Varuṇa with his noose, or Kubera with his mace—but Bhīṣma, roused, none can vanquish. Through folly I drown in grief, having him for a foe. I will retire to the forest; I desire battle no more. Like an insect rushing into fire, so do I rush on Bhīṣma. My brothers are sorely wounded for love of me; for my sake they tasted exile. For me alone, O Mādhava, hast Thou endured distress. If life be saved at all, its remnant I will spend in virtue. If we are worthy of Thy favor, tell me now what aids us, without stain upon our order.”
He burns our ranks like summer flame,
He drinks our strength like sun in June;
What gain is there in blood and fame,
If dharma mourns beneath the moon?
From compassion, Kṛṣṇa replied: “Son of Dharma, grieve not. Behold these invincible heroes for thy brothers: Arjuna and Bhīma, wind and fire in living form; the twins, each a match for the lord of heaven. Set me too to the task—by thy word I act. I will meet Bhīṣma in battle. If Pārtha will not, I shall slay that bull among Kurus before Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons. Thy friends are mine; my foes are thine. For Arjuna I would cut my own flesh. Command me.”
Yudhiṣṭhira answered: “All is as Thou sayest, O Mādhava. With Thee beside me I fear not even the gods with Indra. Yet I will not seek my own glory by making Thee forswear Thy word. Aid me as promised—without Thy fighting. I made a pact with Bhīṣma: he would counsel me truly though he fought for Duryodhana. Let us go to Devavrata and ask him the means of his own death.”
They cast aside mail and weapons and went together to Bhīṣma’s tent—Pāṇḍavas and Mādhava—and bowed with joined palms. The grandsire welcomed them with tender voice: “Welcome, Vṛṣṇi hero; welcome, Dhanañjaya; welcome, king Yudhiṣṭhira, and thou, Bhīma; welcome, ye twins. What shall I do for your joy? Even the difficult I will attempt.” Yudhiṣṭhira said: “How shall we win victory and sovereignty, and how halt this destruction? Tell us the means of thy own death. In battle thou leavest no opening; thy bow is ever a circle, thy arrows fall like light. What man can withstand thee?”
Śāntanu’s son replied: “As long as I live, victory is not yours. After I am cast down, the rest may fall. If ye desire triumph, strike me without delay; I give you leave. How to vanquish me? When I contend with bow in hand, not gods nor Asuras with Indra can defeat me. But if I lay down my weapons, even these car-warriors may slay me. I never strike one fallen, weaponless, standard-down, fleeing, frightened, pleading ‘I am thine,’ a woman, one named as woman, one helpless, one with but a single son, or a vulgar wretch. Hear also my resolve: at an inauspicious omen I will not fight. Śikhaṇḍin, son of Drupada—once a female, later endowed with manhood—stands in your ranks. You all know it. Let Arjuna, clad in mail, keep Śikhaṇḍin before him and assail me. At the sight of one who was a woman, I will not strike. In that moment, let Dhanañjaya pierce me on every side. None but Kṛṣṇa and Pārtha can slay me while I strive. Therefore, with bow in hand, placing (Śikhaṇḍin or) that which is inauspicious before me, cast me down. Then victory is sure.”
They saluted the high-souled elder and returned. But Arjuna, scorched by shame, spoke to Mādhava: “How shall I fight the grandsire—my elder in years, wisdom, and our line? As a child I sat upon his lap and soiled his robe; I called him ‘father,’ and he said, ‘I am thy father’s father.’ How can I slay him? Let my army perish; victory or death, I will not raise my hand against that venerable one. What sayest Thou, Kṛṣṇa?”
Vāsudeva said: “Thou vowedst his fall—how wilt thou now abstain? Victory cannot be thine while Gaṅgā’s son stands. Cast him from his car; so the gods decreed. None but thou could strive with Bhīṣma, wide-mouthed as Time. Hear the counsel Bṛhaspati gave to Śakra: even an aged, meritorious, worshipful foe who comes to destroy must be slain. Such is the Kṣatriya’s eternal duty—fight, protect, sacrifice, without malice.”
Arjuna said: “Śikhaṇḍin shall be the cause of Bhīṣma’s death, for at sight of the Pañcāla prince he holds his hand. I will place Śikhaṇḍin in front; I will restrain the other great bowmen; Śikhaṇḍin shall face the grandsire.”
Thus fate and counsel knit as one—
The elder’s boon, the hero’s vow;
A moon to face the burning sun,
And dharma’s edge to strike the bow.
Sañjaya said:
Having resolved thus with Bhīṣma’s permission, the Pāṇḍavas, with Mādhava, departed rejoicing in heart, and those bulls among men retired each to his bed, awaiting the dawn when destiny would bend toward Śikhaṇḍin and the grandsire’s fall.
At sunrise, O King, the Pāṇḍavas came forth with drums and cymbals and the pale roar of conches, placing Śikhaṇḍin at the very point of their spear. Their array was shaped to shatter foes: Śikhaṇḍin in the van; at his wheels stood Bhīmasena and Dhanañjaya as guardians; behind him the sons of Draupadī and the valiant Abhimanyu; to the rear, Sātyaki and Chekitāna as warders of the last line. Beyond them marched Dhṛṣṭadyumna with the Pañcālas close about him, and after him the royal Yudhiṣṭhira, the twins at his side, filling the air with leonine shouts. Virāṭa followed with his own, then Drupada; and the five Kaikeyas with brave Dhṛṣṭaketu kept the tail of the host. Thus ordered, resolved to cast away their lives if dharma asked it, the sons of Pāṇḍu advanced upon thy line.
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Likewise the Kauravas moved, O Bhārata, with Bhīṣma of terrible prowess set as their foremost flame. Thy mighty sons ringed the grandsire as a rampart. Behind them stood Droṇa and his fierce-hearted son; then Bhagadatta with his roaring elephants; after him Kṛpa and Kṛtavarman; then Sudakṣiṇa of the Kāmbojas, Jayatsena of Magadha, Suvala’s son, and Vṛihadbala; and behind—many kings, all great bowmen, warded the rear. Each day Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, cast the host in strange and fearsome shapes—after the manner of Asuras, Piśācas, and Rākṣasas—so that the field itself seemed haunted by forms of ruin.
Dawn’s white breath on conches lay,
Spears were stars that refused the day;
Front to front the oceans met,
And Yama’s house took new-set debt.
Then the Pārthas, Arjuna at their head and Śikhaṇḍin before them, pressed upon Bhīṣma, showering many kinds of arrows. Afflicted by the grandsire’s shafts, thy warriors, bathed in blood, sought the farther shore and found it not. Nakula and Sahadeva and strong-armed Sātyaki struck at thy ranks with vehemence; and thy host, cut and harried, fled on all sides, finding no protector from the Pāṇḍava and Śṛñjaya storm.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra, thou didst ask what Bhīṣma wrought when he beheld thy army broken. Hear then. The invincible bowman, cheerful in the face of death, poured long, calf-toothed, and crescent-headed shafts upon Pāṇḍavas, Pañcālas, and Śṛñjayas, checking, with a storm of weapons, the five foremost car-lords who strove around him. Elephants he felled, steeds he laid low, chariot-lords he cast to the earth; horsemen, footmen, elephant-riders fell as he thundered among them. The Pāṇḍava heroes rushed at him together as Asuras once rushed at the wielder of the thunderbolt, and his bow—ever a perfect circle—sang like Indra’s own. Thy sons, beholding those deeds, marveled and bowed in their hearts; the Pārthas looked on their elder as the gods once looked on Vipracitti, and their spirits were heavy.
On the tenth day’s dread course, Bhīṣma burned the division of Śikhaṇḍin as fire takes a forest. Śikhaṇḍin, stung and steadfast, pierced him in the breast with three straight shafts. Recognizing his piercer, the grandsire laughed, anger bright but bridled: “Strike or spare, Śikhaṇḍin—I will not fight with thee. Thou art that same Śikhaṇḍinī whom the Creator first fashioned.” At this, Śikhaṇḍin, senses afire and licking the corners of his mouth, spoke out upon the car:
“I know thee, Kṣatriya-slayer grim,
Thy wars with Rāma, iron-limbed;
Thy praise the world has drunk like wine—
Yet fate today shall make thee mine.
For Pāṇḍu’s sons, for vow and right,
I cast my breath into this fight;
By troth I swear before thy eyes—
This day, O Bhīṣma, Bhīṣma dies.”
Having spoken, Śikhaṇḍin struck the grandsire with five more keen shafts, his worded barbs already fixed. Then Arjuna, counting Śikhaṇḍin as the destined end of Gaṅgā’s son, urged him onward: “I will stand behind, rending the foe with my arrows. Rage upon Bhīṣma of terrible power—he cannot afflict thee. If thou returnest today without the grandsire’s fall, both thou and I shall be sport for the world’s scorn. Do that by which our vow stands stainless. Stay the grandsire; I shall hold back all the rest—the sea of Kurus I will check as continent checks tide. Droṇa and his son, Kṛpa, Suyodhana, Citraseṇa, Vikarna, Jayadratha of Sindhu, Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti, Sudakṣiṇa of the Kāmbojas, brave Bhagadatta, the Magadha king, Somadatta’s son, the Rākṣasa of Ṛśyaśṛṅga’s line, the Trigarta lord—let them come all together; I will contain them. Do thou strike down the son of Śāntanu.”
Thus, O King, with vow and omen harnessed, with counsel and courage bound as one, the Pāṇḍavas drove their spearpoint straight—Śikhaṇḍin first, Arjuna shadowing, and destiny moving with their wheels.
Sañjaya said:
At dawn, O King, when the crimson glow had touched the edge of the east, the prince of the Pañcālas, Śikhaṇḍin, his wrath blazing like a sacrificial fire, rushed upon the grandsire—Gaṅgā’s son, steadfast in vows, firm in righteousness. Around him gathered the mightiest of the Pāṇḍava host, eager for victory, their weapons upraised, their hearts alight with purpose.
Bhīmasena and Dhanañjaya guarded his chariot-wheels; Yudhiṣṭhira, with the twins beside him, followed close; Sātyaki, Chekitāna, and the young lions—Abhimanyu and the sons of Draupadī—hemmed him round like planets circling the full moon. Their conches and drums resounded in the dawn, shaking heaven and earth as they bore Śikhaṇḍin forth to meet the terrible son of Śāntanu.
But Bhīṣma’s car, O Bhārata, stood unshaken. His bow was whole, his quiver full, his wrath vast as the sea. Neither shaft nor wheel had faltered beneath him. He slew the foe with straight, clean arrows, striking the Pañcāla lines as a tempest breaks upon a forest.
Thousands of car-warriors from thy army—elephants, steeds, and men—followed him like a moving fortress, Bhīṣma ever at their head. Bound by his vow, undefeated and tireless, he hewed the troops of the sons of Pāṇḍu as a woodsman fells a grove. The Pañcālas and Pāṇḍavas, unable to bear his fury, bent and broke before that shower of death.
On the tenth day, O King, the field ran red as he tore the hostile ranks in hundreds and thousands. The Pāṇḍavas could not withstand him, for he moved through their midst like Yama himself bearing the rod.
Then came Arjuna—Vibhatsu, the unconquered one—his bow drawn even in the left hand, his cry like a lion’s roar. He moved among the hosts as Death personified, his bowstring singing, his arrows flashing like meteors. Thy warriors, smitten with terror, fled before him as deer before the thunder of the storm.
Beholding his army thus broken, Duryodhana approached Bhīṣma, saying:
“The son of Pāṇḍu, O grandsire, whose steeds are white as cloud-foam,
Whose charioteer is Kṛṣṇa Himself—he blazes through my ranks.
He burns them like a fire through dry grass, like a forest aflame in summer.
All my troops, O son of Gaṅgā, are broken beneath his hand.
Bhīma rages; Sātyaki and the twins strike down my lines;
Abhimanyu and the sons of Draupadī drive my men as the herdsman drives his cattle.
Drupada’s son and the mighty Rākṣasa Ghaṭotkaca scatter my forces.
I see no refuge left—save thee, O tiger among men, equal to the gods in might.
Be thou the shelter of my army, lest it perish utterly.”
Hearing these words, the grandsire of the Kurus, calm amid the tempest, pondered for a moment and replied:
“O Duryodhana, listen well. Once I vowed before thee,
Ten thousand Kṣatriyas I would slay each day ere I returned from battle.
That vow, O son of the Kurus, have I fulfilled.
But today I shall accomplish more: either I will slay the sons of Pāṇḍu,
Or I shall lay down my life at the head of thy host.
Thus shall I repay the debt I owe thee for thy trust and bread.”
Having spoken thus, the grandsire of unfailing arms loosed his shafts among the Kṣatriyas like the wind scattering leaves. The Pāṇḍavas rushed upon him, but he stood unmoved, a serpent of blazing poison in their midst.
That day, O King, Bhīṣma displayed a might unearthly. He slew by tens of thousands—elephants by ten thousand, steeds by ten thousand, men by twice a hundred thousand. He blazed like a smokeless fire, and none among the sons of Pāṇḍu could even look upon him, so fierce was his radiance, like the northern sun in high summer.
Yet, though their lines were torn and their hearts faint, the Pāṇḍavas and the Śṛñjayas pressed on, resolved to end the grandsire’s reign of death. Around him swirled battle upon battle, as clouds crowd around Mount Meru when the monsoon breaks.
Thy sons, too, hemmed him on all sides with a vast protecting force. And thus began that furious combat, O Dhṛtarāṣṭra— the tenth day’s storm of arrows, thunder, and blood— when fate itself drew near to claim the grandsire of the Kurus.