Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 4 - Bhisma-Vadha Parva - Chapter 15 - Bhima vs Śalya

Sañjaya said:

Then, O King, after Droṇa had spoken those words of destiny and doom, ten of thy foremost warriors, proud and resolute, advanced together for Bhīṣma’s sake to face the son of Vāyu himself. Bhagadatta, ruler of the east; Kṛpa, sage among bowmen; Śalya, king of Madra; Kṛtavarman, the Yādava lord; Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti; Jayadratha of Sindhu; Chitrasena, Vikarna, and Durmarṣaṇa—these ten lions of thy host, supported by multitudes from many lands, surrounded Bhīma like hunters encircling a raging elephant.

Śalya struck him with nine arrows; Kṛtavarman with three; Kṛpa with nine keen shafts that glittered like sunlight on steel. Chitrasena, Vikarna, and Bhagadatta each loosed ten; Jayadratha three; Vinda and Anuvinda five each. Then Duryodhana himself, burning with envy, showered twenty razor-edged shafts upon the mighty Pāṇḍava.

But Bhīma, O monarch, stood unmoved like a mountain under storm. His bow sang like Indra’s thunder. In fierce reply, he struck Śalya with seven arrows, Kṛtavarman with eight, and sundered Kṛpa’s bow clean in twain, even as he nocked another shaft. Again he smote the sage’s breast with seven more, then pierced Vinda and Anuvinda each thrice, Durmarṣaṇa with twenty, Chitrasena with five, Vikarna with ten, and Jayadratha with five.

Loud as the lion’s roar his cry then rose,

The twang of his bow a thunder that froze;

Blood-red arrows flew from his hand,

And kings fell trembling across the land.

Kṛpa, taking up a new bow, struck back in anger with ten arrows. But Bhīma, glowing like Yama at the world’s end, filled his foe with shafts till his armour shone crimson. Then, seizing three arrows winged with death, he struck down the Sindhu king’s steeds and charioteer, leaving Jayadratha’s banner lurching in the dust.

Bereft of his car, Jayadratha leapt to the ground and loosed a storm of arrows. Bhīma answered with two broad-headed shafts that cut the Sindhu’s bow in twain. Thus shamed before his peers, Jayadratha climbed upon Chitrasena’s car. All thy warriors looked on in wonder, for Bhīma alone had pierced and routed ten princes at once, disarming one before all their eyes.

Śalya, stung by Bhīma’s prowess, cried out “Stay, O Vṛkodara!” and shot arrows bright as serpents, piercing his foe in the breast. Then all the others—Kṛpa, Kṛtavarman, Bhagadatta, Vinda, Anuvinda, Chitrasena, Durmarṣaṇa, Vikarna, and Jayadratha—joined in striking the son of Pāṇḍu for Śalya’s sake.

Bhīma’s answer was swift: five arrows for each, seventy for Śalya, then ten more that rattled on his mail. Śalya replied with nine and five again, and one broad-headed shaft that struck Bhīma’s charioteer Viśoka deep in the side. Seeing his friend wounded, Bhīma’s eyes flamed like coals. He sent three arrows into the Madra king’s arms and breast and three more at every prince around him, crying aloud like a lion among deer.

Then the Kaurava heroes pierced him each with three shafts in return. Yet Bhīma trembled not—he stood firm like a peak of Vindhya under monsoon rain. In wrath he smote Śalya once more with three keen arrows and Bhagadatta with a hundred, Kripa with a rain of steel, and with one swift shaft cut Kṛtavarman’s bow even as the arrow lay upon it.

The Yādava seized another and struck Bhīma between the brows; but the son of Vāyu, unshaken, pierced Śalya with nine iron-headed shafts, Bhagadatta with three, and Kṛtavarman with eight. Then, with shafts that flashed like sunbeams, he struck Kripa and the rest twice each.

All around, arrows fell like monsoon hail, but Bhīma, laughing, moved through them as through dust. Thy ten princes, cool and skilled, filled the sky with their own volleys, thousands upon thousands of barbed shafts that darkened the air.

Then Bhagadatta, towering in wrath, hurled a mighty dart of gold and iron; Jayadratha threw a lance and an axe; Kripa launched a śataghnī; and Śalya, an arrow bright as fire. All struck like thunderbolts upon Bhīma’s path.

The dart like a comet fell through flame,

The lance and axe as twin storms came;

But Bhīma’s shafts were swifter still—

They broke each weapon to his will.

The dart was split, the axe undone,

The śataghnī shattered as clouds by sun;

And as each missile fled in vain,

He smote the lords of earth again.

Then Bhīma pierced them all once more, his laughter echoing through the smoke. And lo—at that moment came Dhanañjaya, his banner of Hanumān blazing, seeing his brother amidst the press. As Arjuna’s chariot wheels thundered near, the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra lost heart; hope withered as grass before the fire.

Placing Śikhaṇḍin before him, the wielder of Gāṇḍīva charged, his shafts singing death. For Bhīma’s sake he struck those ten warriors in a storm of arrows, scattering their ranks. Then Duryodhana, despairing, turned to Suśarman of the Trigartas and cried:

“Go, O Suśarman! Gather thy hosts!

Fall upon Bhīma and Arjuna both!

Let no breath remain between them—

Strike down the sons of Pāṇḍu!”

At his word, the Trigarta king, lord of Prasthala, spurred forth with countless chariots, encircling Bhīma and Arjuna like waves around a rock. And there began a battle fierce as the storm of dissolution— the two sons of Pāṇḍu amid a sea of foes, their bows flaming like twin suns in the heart of war.

Sañjaya said:

Then Arjuna, wielder of the Gāṇḍīva, covered the mighty car-warrior Śalya with straight-flying shafts that glittered like rays of the sun. Each arrow sang as it struck, and the clash of steel echoed through the plain. He pierced Suśarman and Kṛpa with three arrows each, and smote in succession Bhagadatta of the Eastern realms, Jayadratha of Sindhu, Chitrasena, Vikarna, Kṛtavarman, and Durmarṣaṇa, together with the princes of Avanti—each with three keen shafts winged with the feathers of the kanka and the peacock.

Stolen story; please report.

Jayadratha, standing upon Chitrasena’s car, struck back at both Arjuna and Bhīma with a volley of sharp arrows. Śalya and Kṛpa, unshaken, pierced Jishnu from both sides, their shafts burning into his flesh like tongues of fire. Then thy sons, O king, led by Chitrasena, shot five arrows each at the two sons of Kuntī, but the great heroes only smiled and pressed on, scattering the Trigarta host like wolves among a flock of deer.

Suśarman roared aloud and pierced Pārtha with nine swift arrows. The cry was terrible, resounding like thunder over the armies; yet Arjuna and Bhīma only grew the fiercer, their forms blazing like twin suns in the smoke of battle.

Two lions roamed the field that day,

Among the kine of war they played;

Their bows were serpents, their shafts were flame,

And none could stand or speak their name.

With deadly precision, they cut down bows, severed arrows in flight, and struck off heads by hundreds. Cars were shattered, elephants fell trumpeting, horses rolled beneath the wheels; the ground trembled under the weight of the slain. The earth, soaked with blood, seemed a red sea strewn with broken mail and splintered banners.

And still Pārtha’s valour shone—terrible and wondrous—as he held at bay all those kings, pouring his arrows like rain. Kṛpa, Kṛtavarman, Jayadratha, and the Avanti princes would not flee, but stood their ground like mountains under storm. Yet Bhīma and Arjuna, two tigers among men, routed the Kaurava host, scattering its ranks to the four winds.

The kings of thy side loosed myriads upon myriads of arrows, feathered and gleaming, but Dhanañjaya struck them all down with showers from his own hand, turning their flight aside as Garuḍa turns away serpents. Wherever he cast his gaze, men fell.

Śalya, fierce as a forest fire, pierced Arjuna in the chest with straight, broad-headed shafts. But Pārtha, smiling slightly, cut Śalya’s bow and his leathern guard with five keen arrows, then struck him deep in the vitals. The Madra king seized another bow, stronger still, and rained arrows—three at Jishnu, five at Keśava, and nine at Bhīmasena’s arms and breast.

Then came Droṇa, the aged preceptor, and Jayatsena, ruler of Magadha, urged forward by Duryodhana. The Magadha king pierced Bhīma with eight arrows, but Bhīma answered with ten and then five more, and with a single broad-headed shaft struck down the charioteer from his seat. The steeds, wild and masterless, bore their king away from battle before the eyes of all.

Droṇa, seizing his moment, struck Bhīma with eight keen arrows shaped like frogs’ mouths. Yet Bhīma, though revering his teacher, repaid him with five broad-headed shafts and sixty more that flashed like lightning.

Meanwhile Arjuna, whirling his bow in wrath, pierced Suśarman with iron arrows, scattering his host as the tempest scatters a mass of clouds.

Then from the distance advanced the grandsire Bhīṣma, the king Duryodhana, and Vṛhadvāla, lord of the Kosalas, their banners dark as storm clouds, their hearts aflame with rage. Against them rushed the heroes of the Pāṇḍava host—Dhṛṣṭadyumna, son of Pṛṣata, leading the charge. Seeing Bhīṣma advancing like Death itself, he cried to the warriors:

“On, ye sons of the earth! On, ye heroes of Draupadī’s line!

Fear not the son of Gaṅgā—rush upon him!

The grandsire’s hour is come!”

At his call, the entire army of the Pāṇḍavas surged forward, their conches blaring, their hearts set to die for victory. Śikhaṇḍin, beholding Bhīṣma, rejoiced like a fire fed by wind and rushed ahead, fearless and exultant.

Then the sons of Pāṇḍu, with Yudhiṣṭhira at their head, placed Śikhaṇḍin in the van and joined by the Sṛñjayas, pressed forward to meet the Kauravas. And thy army, O King, placing Bhīṣma in its forefront, met them like a tide meeting a tide.

The field became a storm of gods and men, where every breath was peril and every heartbeat a vow. For the stake of that day’s dreadful game— played for glory, for vengeance, and for dharma— was none other than Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, the pillar on which thy army stood.

And as the two hosts crashed together, the grandsire received them— like the immovable continent receiving the surging sea.

Sañjaya said:

When dawn broke on the tenth day, O King, and the smoke of slaughter still veiled the eastern sky, the grandsire Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, rose like the morning sun amidst the Kuru ranks. His banner—bearing the image of the golden palmyra—fluttered high, and his bow shone like Indra’s rainbow. The cries of conches from both hosts mingled with the neighing of steeds, the bellowing of elephants, and the clash of countless drums.

The tenth dawn came—its light was red,

With blood the mist of battle spread;

Steel was the song, and death the flame,

And Time stood watching, naming names.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“O Sañjaya, tell me all. How fought Bhīṣma, that ocean of might, on this tenth day? How did the sons of Pāṇḍu and the Śṛñjayas meet him? Tell me, how did the Kurus resist when the grandsire faced his end?”

Sañjaya replied:

“I will recount to thee, O Bharata, that great and terrible encounter, wherein the earth herself trembled beneath the tread of heroes. Day after day, the diademed Arjuna sent mighty warriors of thy host to Yama’s abode—each slain by shafts of fire. Yet even so, the ever-victorious Bhīṣma, true to his vow, wrought havoc among the sons of Pāṇḍu, mowing their ranks like a blazing wind through dry reeds.

Beholding Bhīṣma leading the Kurus and Arjuna commanding the Pāñcālas, the warriors could not tell to which side victory would lean. On that day when they met face to face, the field became a sea of blood and steel; none could count the fallen. Many whose names are lost to time—brave men of unknown birth yet unyielding hearts—were slain by the grandsire’s hand.

After ten days of such wrath, Bhīṣma, that noble and righteous soul, laid aside all desire for life. He thought: ‘No longer shall I destroy men by thousands. Let death come through my grandson’s hand.’ Seeing Yudhiṣṭhira near, the grandsire called to him amidst the clang of arms.

“O son of Dharma, wise and pure,

Thy grandsire’s strength can slay no more.

This body, long the foe of kings,

Would rest from war’s unholy things.

If thou wouldst please me, Pandu’s heir,

Then set against me Pārtha’s care;

Let Śikhaṇḍin lead, and Arjuna’s aim,

End what fate hath writ in name.”

Hearing those words, the son of Kuntī bowed and returned to his host. Then Yudhiṣṭhira addressed the warriors, his voice steady as dharma itself:

“Advance, ye princes! Strike without fear! Before you stands Bhīṣma, but before us stands victory. The wielder of Gāṇḍīva shall shield you; Dhṛṣṭadyumna, our commander, and mighty Bhīma shall guard your flanks. Place Śikhaṇḍin in the van—for today the grandsire shall fall!”

So saying, the Pāṇḍavas, resolved on death or triumph, advanced in wrath, Śikhaṇḍin and Arjuna at the fore, the air alive with the sound of their drums and conches. Across the field, Duryodhana sent forth all his kings—Droṇa and his son Aśvatthāman, Duḥśāsana and the Kaurava princes—gathered about the grandsire like stars around the moon.

Then Arjuna, ape-bannered, rode with Śikhaṇḍin before him and the hosts of the Cedis and Pāñcālas around. The grandson of Sini met Droṇa’s son in combat; Dhṛṣṭaketu faced a prince of Puru’s line; Yudhamanyu clashed with Duryodhana; Virāṭa, with Jayadratha of Sindhu; Yudhiṣṭhira, lion-hearted, met the Madra king Śalya; and Bhīma, like Yama incarnate, charged the elephant corps that darkened the plain. Dhṛṣṭadyumna, blazing with fury, led his brothers against the preceptor Droṇa himself.

Elsewhere, Vṛhadvāla of Kosala, his banner marked with a lion, advanced against Abhimanyu, whose own standard bore the golden karṇikāra flower. The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, with their allies, rushed at Śikhaṇḍin and Arjuna, eager to cut them down before they reached the grandsire.

The ground quaked beneath the surge of both hosts. Dust rose like a shroud over heaven, pierced by flashes of whetted steel. Conches blared, trumpets roared, and the thunder of hooves and drums shook the air. The glow of jeweled diadems dimmed beneath that storm, as though the light of the sun and moon were veiled.

The arrows fell so thick they turned day into twilight. Spears and swords clashed like lightning in a tempest. Horses overthrew horsemen, elephants crushed elephants, and men cut down men in a madness of blood.

Steel met steel and cry met cry,

The rivers ran red and the vultures drew nigh;

For Bhīṣma’s sake the earth was torn,

And two great tides of life were shorn.

That day, O King, the battle raged like two hawks fighting for a single piece of flesh. None turned back; none sought life over honour. For Bhīṣma, the grandsire, stood between two worlds—his fall the price of the Kauravas’ fate, his courage the last lamp of their hope.

Thus began the tenth day’s dreadful battle,

where the ocean of the Kurus met the storm of the sons of Pāṇḍu—

and all creation held its breath.