novelraw Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 1 - Bhīṣma Praises Karṇa
Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 1 - Bhīṣma Praises Karṇa
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Bhīṣma, son of Śāntanu, the grandsire of the Kurus, fell pierced by the arrows of Śikhaṇḍin and Arjuna, grief spread like a dark cloud over Hastināpura. Hearing that his sire, Devavrata—unrivalled in vigour and steadfast in vow—had fallen, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the old king of the Kurus, was struck down by sorrow and confusion. The sounds of lamentation filled the palace like the wailing of spirits in a ruined shrine.
Janamejaya, hearing this, said with folded hands:
Janamejaya said:
“O holy sage, tell me, what did the blind monarch do
When Bhīṣma, his mighty sire, lay slain upon the field?
His son desired the earth’s dominion through victory’s hue—
What course took Dhṛtarāṣṭra when hope itself was sealed?”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing of Bhīṣma’s fall, the king of the Kurus, Dhṛtarāṣṭra—his heart torn by grief—knew no peace. Brooding night and day, his mind wandered amid despair. Then came Sañjaya, son of Gāvalgana, pure of heart and steady in devotion, who had returned from the camp at Kurukṣetra. Bowing to him, the old king spoke with trembling voice, his soul burning under the weight of fate.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O Sañjaya, after the fall of Bhīṣma, what did my sons and their allies do? That hero, unvanquished in battle, has been struck down! Tell me, how fared my warriors, deprived of their mightiest shield? For the sons of Pāṇḍu—those lions among men—burn with the fire of destiny, and their host shines like the blazing sun. Tell me, O wise one, what befell the kings after Devavrata, that pillar of our race, had fallen?”
Sañjaya said:
“O King, listen with undivided mind, for I shall recount what your sons did when the grandsire of Kuru fell upon his bed of arrows. When the mighty Bhīṣma, unconquerable and radiant as Agni himself, was struck down, both armies paused in awe—each reflecting on the nature of dharma and the transience of life.
Then, filled with mingled wonder and grief, those warriors bowed to him who had guarded the world’s law, and prepared a bed of arrows—sharp shafts laid in reverence—as a couch for that aged hero. Around him they stood, silent as stars around the moon, their hearts torn between honour and despair.”
“Upon the bed of pointed reeds
He lay, the ocean’s tide at rest;
The winds grew still, the heavens bowed,
Time paused before that soul so blest.”
Having paid homage, the kings turned from the son of Gaṅgā, circling him as the planets move about the sun. Then, with eyes red from weeping and wrath, they once more took up their arms, driven by fate and duty alike.
The conches roared, drums thundered like storm-clouds; banners shook as the armies marched again into battle. But the heart of the Kaurava host was hollow, for the pillar of their strength had fallen. Like a sky bereft of stars, like earth scorched by drought, like a speech without meaning, their host wandered in disarray.
“Leaderless, the host did reel,
Like stars stripped from the midnight sky;
Like widowed queen or broken seal,
The Kurus stood, condemned to die.”
Deprived of Bhīṣma, their refuge and guide, the Kurus trembled as sheep without shepherd in a forest of wolves. Their chariots faltered, their elephants turned, and their hearts sank like boats in stormy seas. Panic spread like a fever through the camp, and Death himself seemed to ride amidst them.
Then the Kauravas remembered Karṇa—Radha’s son, the ever-valiant, he who had vowed his life in battle. “Call him!” they cried. “Let Karṇa lead us, for he is our shield and our hope!”
They recalled how Bhīṣma, in the reckoning of warriors, had spoken of Karṇa as Ardha-ratha—a lesser chariot-hero—and how Karṇa, wounded by pride, had vowed not to fight while the grandsire lived. Yet now, with Bhīṣma fallen and the hosts undone, all eyes turned to the son of Sūrya as men drowning turn to a raft.
“O Karṇa, mighty as the sun,
Whose arms bear Fate’s unerring aim—
Rise now, for Bhīṣma’s course is run,
Redeem our hope, restore our name!”
He, who had mastered the weapons of Paraśurāma and equaled the gods in might, had withheld his strength for ten long days. Now the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, seeing ruin close upon them, remembered only him. In their hearts, he was salvation—like Kṛṣṇa to the gods in their peril.
Sañjaya spoke thus, and Dhṛtarāṣṭra, sighing deeply, like a serpent that has lost its jewel, uttered these words of sorrow:
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“All hearts, O Sañjaya, turn to Karṇa now—
The son of Rādha, the mighty, the scorned, the true.
Tell me, did he fulfill their hope, their vow,
When Bhīṣma fell, and darkness drew?”
And Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus did the blind monarch lament, his heart divided between love and fear, between his sons’ ruin and the shadow of destiny that now moved closer upon them all.
Sañjaya said:
When the news of Bhīṣma’s fall reached him, Adhiratha’s son—born of the Sūta line—resolved to be as a brother to the distressed Kuru host and to rescue it from the ruin into which it had sunk, like a frail boat in a fathomless sea. For, O King, when tidings came that Santanu’s son, that foremost of car-warriors and slayer of foes, had been cast down from his chariot, Karṇa—moved by pity and by the call of duty—hurried without delay to the field. He came resolved to take upon himself the burden of the Kurus, as a father who hastens to save his children from drowning.
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Standing before the assembled warriors, Karṇa spoke with voice heavy and eyes wet with tears. He praised Bhīṣma—firm of purpose, wise of counsel, strong in vow, modest, free of malice, and adorned with speech like nectar—and he mourned that such a guardian of dharma should have met his quietus. He reminded the kings that nothing in this world is imperishable, bound as all things are to action and its end. If Bhīṣma, endowed with greatness equal to the Vasus, has fallen, who can be certain that the sun itself will rise on the morrow? Therefore, he bade them grieve for their possessions and children, for the Kurus and this host.
“If Bhīṣma of unbending vow be gone,
What trust remains beneath the sky?
The sun may fail; the river run dry—
We stand, our fortunes rent and shorn.”
Hearing his words, thy sons and the troops wept aloud; loud were their laments, and the battle-field rang with cries like thunder mingled with grief. Yet when the tumult of war rose again and the Kaurava divisions, urged by their kings, took up the fight, Karṇa, that mighty bull among warriors, addressed the chiefs and bade them take heart.
In plain words he declared that the world is transient and that fame is the supreme object. Since Bhīṣma had fallen—he who stood immovable as a mountain—he could no longer credit fear of battle. Seeing the Kuru host shattered and bereft of its foremost champions, Karṇa resolved that the burden of defence must now rest upon him. He vowed to encounter the sons of Pāṇḍu in the midst of their might, to attack with his straight shafts, and to win sovereignty for Duryodhana or to die in the attempt and follow Bhīṣma to the regions of heroes.
“I will bear this burden, break or crown,
Fame is the prize I seek this day;
Either I slay them on the ground,
Or on that ground my bones shall lay.”
He spoke of the Pandava heroes—Yudhiṣṭhira firm in truth, Bhīma mighty as a hundred elephants, Arjuna peerless and the son of Indra—acknowledging that their force, strengthened by Satyaki and Vasudeva and the Srinjaya clans, was like the jaws of Death itself. Yet Karṇa affirmed that force must be met by force; as ascetic vigour is opposed by ascetic vigour, so must martial power be opposed by martial power. Reckless of life and mindful only of duty, he commanded the preparations of war: his golden armor, his radiant diadem, sixteen quivers bristling with shafts, numerous bows and strings, maces and darts, his conch and standard to be made ready; steeds swift as tawny clouds to be harnessed; a car decked in jewels and garlands to be readied and sanctified with mantras. He ordered garlands, drums for victory, and all the rites and vessels proper for setting forth to battle.
“Arm my heart with gold and string,
Let banners blaze and trumpets ring;
Let steeds be yoked and garlands twine—
I go to fight; the field be mine.”
Thus arrayed, Karṇa mounted his car—costly, strong, and gleaming—yoked to excellent steeds that rolled like clouds. Worshipped by the foremost Kuru warriors as Indra is worshipped by the gods, he shone upon his chariot like the sun upon the firmament. With rattle like thunder and standard bright as the lotus, the son of Adhiratha rode at the head of a great force to the place where Bhīṣma had yielded up his life. Fierce in aspect and splendid as a flame, that mighty bowman moved forward, resolved to uphold the Kuru cause and to face the Pandava champions in the very center of the fray.
Sañjaya said:
Beholding the grandsire Bhīṣma—venerable, terrible to Kṣatriyas, immeasurable in energy and righteous in soul—cast down by Savyasachin’s celestial shafts and lying upon a bed of arrows, the hope of your sons for victory seemed to vanish along with their mail and peace of mind. That mighty guardian, who had ever been an island for those who struggled to cross the fathomless sea of war, now lay covered with shafts as a mountain is covered with snow. He looked like Mainaka hurled low by the storm; like the sun fallen from the firmament; like Indra himself humbled after an ancient overthrow. To see him prostrate—this foremost of warriors, the signal of all bowmen—was to see the Kurus’ refuge stripped away.
Adhiratha’s son, Karṇa, alighted from his chariot in deep affliction, his eyes wet and his steps unsteady. He came forward on foot, reverent and almost stunned, and with joined palms saluted Bhīṣma. In a voice broken by grief he spoke to that grandsire, calling himself Karṇa and invoking blessing upon him. He lamented that no man surely reaps the full fruits of his pious deeds, since one so reverend and vowed to virtue as Bhīṣma lay slain on the field. He declared that among the Kurus there was none equal to him in filling the treasury, in wise counsel, in marshaling hosts, and in mastery of weapons; the protector of the Kurus, who had slain countless foes, had gone to the regions of the Pitṛs.
“O Bhīṣma, pillar broken, refuge gone,
The field now trembles, skies grow dim;
Our armour rusts, our banners droop—
The world’s sure anchor lost in him.”
Kārṇa warned those who heard him that, in the days ahead, the Pandavas—stung by wrath and terrible in might—would rend the Kauravas as tigers rend deer. He spoke plainly of the dread that Gandiva’s twang would bring: the noise of those arrows would be like heaven’s thunder and would strike terror into the Kuru ranks. He likened Partha, blazing in battle, to a consuming fire, and Krishna to the wind that drives the flames; wherever fire and wind march together, all that stands before them is swept away.
“Partha is fire that burns the plain,
Madhava blows as wind behind;
Where arrows blaze and purpose blows,
The forest of our hosts shall find.”
Karna declared that, bereft of Bhīṣma, no king among them could withstand Arjuna—the peerless son of Pandu whose feats are spoken of by the wise as superhuman. Arjuna, who had once contended with the three-eyed Mahādeva and received boons unattainable to ordinary men, was protected by Madhava; to face him was to face the jaws of Death. Yet Karṇa, resolute and indignant at the loss of his friend and the ruin of the host, affirmed that he was ready, with permission, to take upon himself that burden. He claimed that even he—born of a Sūta yet adorned with prowess learned from Jamadagni’s son—was competent to meet and slay that dreadful warrior.
“If Bhīṣma’s light be quenched today,
Then let my arm assume his flame;
I'll meet the son of Indra’s line,
Or fall and follow Bhīṣma’s name.”
Thus standing beside the fallen grandsire, Karṇa poured forth his grief and his vow: he would confront the Pandava champions, he would resist Arjuna’s might, and he would strive to protect the Kuru cause—either to crown Duryodhana with victory or to die in noble combat and follow Bhīṣma to the abode of heroes.
Sañjaya said:
Unto Karṇa, who stood before him sorrowful and yet aflame with resolve, the aged grandsire Bhīṣma—his body pierced but his spirit serene—spoke words suited to time and place. His voice, though faint, flowed with the calm of wisdom and affection.
“As rivers seek the boundless sea,
As stars depend upon the sun,
As seeds repose in fertile earth—
So be thou refuge, O noble one.
Be thou to kin as Indra’s might,
To heaven’s host their shield and stay;
To foes, a fire that shames their pride,
To friends, the dawn that lights their way.”
With a cheerful heart, the grandsire continued, praising Karṇa’s past deeds and urging him to uphold the house of Kuru:
“O Karṇa, thou hast already accomplished great deeds for the sake of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son. With thy own arms and valour, thou didst subdue the Kāmbojas at Rājapura. Kings dwelling at Girivraja, among whom Nagnajit was foremost, as also the Aṁvashṭhas, Videhas, and Gandharvas—all these didst thou vanquish. The fierce Kirātas in the Himalaya’s fastnesses bowed to Duryodhana’s will because of thee. So too the peoples of Utpala, Mekala, Pauṇḍra, Kaliṅga, Andhra, Niṣāda, Trigarta, and Bālhika—all were conquered by thy strength.
Like Duryodhana, O child of Vikartana, be thou the refuge of thy kin. Fight now, as destiny commands. Lead the Kurus to battle and bring victory to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son. To us, thou art as a grandson, as dear as Duryodhana himself. The wise proclaim that the bond between the righteous and the righteous transcends that of shared birth. Therefore, without renouncing thy kinship with the Kurus, protect them as thine own.”
“Go forth, O son of Adhiratha,
Uphold our flag, redeem our fame;
Be Duryodhana’s arm in war,
And add new lustre to our name.”
Thus blessed by the grandsire in words of grace, Karṇa, bowing low, saluted Bhīṣma’s feet and took his leave. Mounting his chariot once more, he came to where the great Kaurava bowmen stood assembled. Beholding the vast array stretching like a second ocean, he passed among the warriors with words of encouragement, and their hearts rose like waves before the wind.
And when the mighty-armed son of Sūrya took his place at the head of the host, a tumult of joy shook the Kaurava ranks. Conches blared, drums thundered, warriors shouted lion-roars, and bows were twanged in fierce delight. All the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, seeing Karṇa radiant as the morning sun, felt hope surge anew within their hearts.