novelraw Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 3 - Drona’s Charge to Capture Yudhistir
Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 3 - Drona’s Charge to Capture Yudhistir
When the tale of Drona’s fall had been told, the blind monarch was overcome with anguish. His voice trembled like a flame in the wind as he spoke, his heart torn between disbelief and sorrow.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O Sañjaya, tell me truly—how could the sons of Pāṇḍu and the Śṛñjayas slay that mighty preceptor, the foremost of all wielders of arms? Was his chariot broken? Did his bow snap in his hands? Or was the son of Bharadvāja careless in that dread hour when death approached him?
How could the son of Pṛṣata, Dṛṣṭadyumna, slay that invincible one—the master of every weapon, the sage of perfect restraint, the preceptor of princes and of Brahmanas alike? Drona, of golden chariot and tiger-skin seat, whose shafts flashed like sunrays and whose aim never failed—how fell he, the very light of our host?
Surely, destiny is stronger than effort, for what exertion can stand against fate when even Drona, equal to Bṛhaspati in wisdom and to Rudra in wrath, has been struck down by the hand of Time?
“The ocean dries, the mountains fall,
When fate ascends her ruthless throne;
The fire that burned the world entire—
How now lies cold, O son of Bhāraḍvāja, gone!”
O Sañjaya, my heart is harder than adamant, else it would have burst in a hundred pieces to hear that Drona is dead. He who taught kings and Brahmanas alike—the lore of the Vedas and the science of the bow—he, the refuge of knowledge, how could he be taken by Death?
His red steeds, swift as wind and decked in golden nets, that bore him through storms of battle unwearied—did they falter at last? Did the strength of their sinews fail, or the fire of his arms grow cold? How could such steeds, yoked to such a master, not carry him across the sea of the Pāṇḍava host?
Tell me, what deeds were done by that lion among warriors before he fell? Against what princes did he stand when the end drew near? Did the sons of Pāṇḍu flee before his golden car, or did Yudhiṣṭhira, firm in dharma, surround him with his brothers and the fire-born prince of the Pāñcālas? Surely Arjuna must have held back the others while Dṛṣṭadyumna closed in—else who could have slain him?
Perhaps, pressed by hosts of Kekayas and Matsyas, Cedis and Karūṣas, like ants swarming upon a serpent, the son of Pṛṣata struck him down when he paused amid some mighty feat. Alas, how bitter the irony—he who studied the four Vedas and the fifth that is History, the ocean of knowledge wherein all rivers of wisdom flow, has perished by the sword!
He lived as both Brahmana and Kṣatriya; he was righteous, unyielding, and self-contained. Though wronged, he bore it for my sake. Now, undeserving, he has met the fruit of that very loyalty—slain by Kuntī’s sons whose skill he himself had nurtured.
“He taught the hand that struck him down,
He lit the flame that burned his own;
Such is the law of fate unbent—
The teacher reaps the seed he sown.”
O Sañjaya, he who was the pride of earth like Indra in heaven, how could he fall to men smaller than himself—like a whale slain by fish? None could escape his sight, none depart his presence alive. His days were filled with two sounds alone—the chanting of the Vedas and the twang of the bowstring. That great soul, always serene and fearless, has been brought low; and the thought sears me like fire.
Who stood beside him when he fought his last? Who guarded his chariot wheels, his flanks, his rear? Did any abandon him when the storm broke, leaving him to meet death alone? He would never have turned his back in fear. Tell me, how, O Sañjaya, was he slain?
My mind reels; my breath falters. A man of honour, even in distress, should put forth his might to the measure of his soul—and Drona did so, to the very end. Yet even such a one has perished. Alas, I am undone! My senses fail me. Let this discourse cease awhile. When I have steadied my heart once more, I will again ask thee of that lion among men, the son of Bharadvāja.”
“So spoke the king, his sightless eyes
Turned inward where his sorrow burned;
The night of fate o’erspread his mind—
For Drona slain, the world had turned.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having thus addressed the son of the Sūta, Dhṛtarāṣṭra—his heart crushed by grief and hope drained of colour—fell senseless to the ground. Seeing the monarch prostrate and bereft of sense, attendants sprinkled him with cool, perfumed water and fanned him gently. Then the ladies of the Bhāratas gathered round, lifting him with tender hands and seating him upon his throne. Long did he sit unmoving, held in the stillness of swoon, while they stood about him with fans. At last a tremor passed through his limbs; slowly his breath deepened, and consciousness returned. Then once again he questioned Sañjaya, son of Gāvalgana, about the deeds that had befallen in battle.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O Sañjaya, tell me: when Ajātaśatru, like the risen sun dispelling darkness, rushed forward like a rut-maddened elephant that no rival herd-master can withstand, who stood before him to bar his course toward Droṇa? Who ringed that lion-heart as he sped?
Who hemmed in Bhīmasena—iron-limbed, terrible in onset, equal in force to ten thousand tuskers—when he hurled himself upon my host? Who met Vibhatsu, cloud-dark upon a cloud-bright car, whose Gāṇḍīva thundered like rain-swollen heaven, whose shafts fell like torrents, whose palms clapped and wheels roared until all quarters shook? When the ape-banner veiled the sky with a storm of arrows—what became the hearts of my warriors?
“Where Pārtha storms, men’s courage fails;
The bowstring’s thunder splits the air;
The white-steeds’ surge, the ape-starred flag—
What mortal breast can house such glare?”
Did Arjuna carve his road through my ranks with the music of Gāṇḍīva, while Duryodhana, tempest-like, shattered his foes? Who among men can bear the wielder of that bow? The mere rumour of his presence rends a hostile heart in twain.
Tell me, when Nakula—young, fair, and resolute—pressed upon Droṇa, who surrounded him? When Sahadeva—like an angered serpent of virulent bite—rode forth with vows inviolate, who barred his path?
Who held back Sātyaki—Yuyudhāna of the Vṛṣṇis—truth-fast, firm of will, equal to Keśava in courage and to Pārtha in the lore of weapons, instructed by Arjuna till he shone like a second Arjuna? Who stood before that Satwata lion?
Who withstood Uttamaujas, Pāñcāla’s pride, dear to heroes and a shield to Arjuna—equal to Yama, Vaiśravaṇa, Āditya, Maghavan, and Varuṇa? Who checked Dhṛṣṭaketu, lone Cedi champion turned to the sons of Pāṇḍu? Who faced Ketumat, slayer of Durjaya at Girivraja, when he drove upon Droṇa?
Who fronted Śikhaṇḍin, son of Yajñasena—knower of the burden of manhood and womanhood—cheerful in the carnage, Bhīṣma’s destined bane? And who dared Abhimanyu—Vṛṣṇi-scion and bowman peerless, terrible as Death with mouth agape—when that youth of blazing intellect flew at Droṇa?
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What of the sons of Draupadī—Kṣatrañjaya, Kṣatradeva, Kṣatravarman, Māṇḍa, and their valiant brother—who for twelve years renounced childish play and sought weapons at Bhīṣma’s feet? Who withstood them as rivers racing to the sea?
Who barred Chekitāna, the Vr̥ṣṇi warrior prized as greater than a hundred chariot-lords? Who hemmed the five Kekaya brothers—red in mail and banner, Indragopa-hued, maternal kin and steadfast allies of the Pāṇḍavas—when they sped for Droṇa’s life?
Who stood against Yuyutsu—the tiger among men—whom wrathful kings could not subdue at Vāraṇāvata across six full months, who felled the Kāśi prince at Vārāṇasī with a single broad head? Who closed upon Dhṛṣṭadyumna—the fire-born counsellor of the Pāṇḍavas, created to unmake Droṇa—when he burst our lines and consumed our ranks?
Who held Śikhaṇḍin, reared almost upon Drupada’s lap, when Arjuna’s protection shadowed him? Who faced the Saivya prince—grandson of Uśīnara’s mighty son—whose sacrifices outpoured kine like Gāṅgā’s grains of sand, whose feats drew from gods themselves the cry: ‘His like is none in the three worlds’? Who checked Virāṭa’s car-host, Matsya’s lord, when it rolled toward Droṇa? Who stayed the giant Rākṣasa Ghaṭotkaca—thorn in my sons’ side, master of illusion, terror of strength and spell?
“How shall defeat o’ertake the five
Whose champions cast their lives away?
For them stands Śārṅga’s lord divine—
Where Nārāyaṇa is, who wins the day?”
What can withstand those for whose sake such heroes court death? How can Pṛthā’s sons be overcome, they who hold as refuge the greatest Being—he of the bow Śārṅga, the Eternal? Vāsudeva is the Master of all worlds, the Lord of all, beginningless and endless. Nārāyaṇa—celestial-souled, of infinite power—is the refuge of men in battle.
The wise recount his heavenly deeds. I too shall recite them with devotion, to steady this staggering heart and recover firmness.”
“O Keśava, refuge of the brave,
O Nārāyaṇa, shoreless sea,
Recall thy deeds to this dark mind—
From thy remembrance, courage be.”
Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, his voice unsteady yet striving for firmness, spoke at length of Vāsudeva’s celestial deeds—the deeds of Govinda which, he said, no other being has matched. He recalled how, while reared in Nanda’s cowherd home, the dark-eyed child revealed the strength of his arms to the three worlds, and how, even then, he slew the horse-demon on the banks of Yamunā, fleet as the wind and strong as Uccaiḥśravas; how with bare hands he felled the bull-formed Dānava risen like Death among the kine; how lotus-eyed Keśava overthrew Pralamba, Naraka, Jambha, Pīṭha, and Mura, the terror of the celestials; and how Kamsa, though shielded by Jarāsandha, fell with his clan to the single might of Kṛṣṇa.
“Child of Vraja, with palms of steel,
He broke the yoke of demon bands;
He drew the thorn from heaven’s heel,
With gentle eyes and thunder hands.”
With Baladeva beside him, Janārdana scorched the hosts of Sūrasena and the Bhojas; Sunāman fell with an Akṣauhiṇī entire. A wrathful seer, gratified by worship, bestowed rare boons upon him. At a svayaṃvara he humbled rival kings and bore away the Gāndhāra princess; those enraged rulers, lashed by his triumph, seemed yoked like horses to his nuptial car. Through his counsel Jarāsandha, lord of vast battalions, was slain by another’s hand. At the quarrel of the arghya he smote the proud lord of the Cedis like a sacrificial beast. He cast into the sea the sky-borne city of Śālva, impregnable Saubha, and stilled it in the depths.
He subdued Anga and Vaṅga, Kaliṅga and Magadha, Kāśī and Kosala, Vatsa, Garga, Karūṣa and Pauṇḍra; he humbled Avanti, the Southerners and Mountaineers, Daśerakas and Kāśmīras, Aurāsikas, Piśācas, Samudgalas, Kāmbojas and Vaṭadhānas; and he broke the pride of Cola and Pāṇḍya, Trigarta and Mālava, Darada and Khāsa, Śaka and Yavana with their retinues.
“He entered seas where Varuṇa reigns,
And bent the wave-lord’s jeweled crown;
He plucked from Pātāla’s coiling lanes
The conch that shakes the heavens down.”
In ancient days, descending into the waters, he overcame Varuṇa in his own domain. He slew Pañcajanya in the nether deeps and won that roaring conch. With Pārtha he fed the Fire at Khāṇḍava and took the fierce, invincible discus. Mounted on Garuḍa he shook Amarāvatī and brought the Pārijāta from mighty Mahendra; Śakra endured it, knowing Kṛṣṇa’s power. “Who among kings has not been humbled by him?” the monarch said. “What he wrought in my own court—no tongue can compass.”
“I saw him, Lord concealed in man,
A moment’s grace unveiled the sea;
My eyes have drunk what few eyes can—
The Master veiled in humanity.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra named the Vṛṣṇi heroes—Gada and Sāmba, Pradyumna and Cārudeṣṇa, Sāraṇa and Ulmukha, Niśaṭha and valiant Jhillīvabhu, Pṛthu and Vipṛthu, Śāmika and Arimejaya—saying they would take station with the Pāṇḍava host at Keśava’s call. “Then,” he sighed, “all on our side stands in peril. And where Janārdana is, there is Rāma—mighty as ten thousand elephants, mountain-solid, garlanded with wild flowers, armed with the plough. If Vāsudeva, whom the twice-born call the Father of all, should don his mail for Pāṇḍu’s sons, none among us can oppose him. Should the Kauravas for a time prevail, that tiger among men will raise his weapon and give the earth to Kuntī’s child.”
“What car can face that chariot’s blaze—
Hṛṣīkeśa’s reins, Pārtha’s bow?
Where Kṛṣṇa guides and Arjuna slays,
Even gods and Asuras fail below.”
He declared that victory cannot abide with the Kurus; hence he begged to hear all that had taken place. “Arjuna is Keśava’s very life; where Kṛṣṇa stands, there victory stands; in Kṛṣṇa abides unfading fame. Vibhatsu is invincible in all the worlds; in Keśava, merits without end. Blind to this, foolish Duryodhana tightens Death’s own noose around his neck. He knows not Kṛṣṇa of the Daśārhas nor Pāṇḍu’s Arjuna. These two are the ancient Nara and Nārāyaṇa—seen as twain upon the earth, yet one in soul. With mind alone they could unmake this host; only their humanity withholds them.”
“When Yuga turns and dharma wanes,
Great pillars fall—Bhīṣma, Droṇa;
No rite nor vow nor Veda’s strains
Can fence life’s edge from Time’s corona.”
“Why do I live,” he said, “after hearing of the death of Bhīṣma and Droṇa—masters revered in all the worlds, unconquered in battle? Henceforth we must live dependent upon that prosperity of Yudhiṣṭhira which once stirred our envy. This ruin of the Kurus is born of my deeds. When Time comes to reap the ripe, a straw becomes a thunderbolt. Endless, it seems, is the fortune that draws near to Yudhiṣṭhira—by whose wrath even Bhīṣma and Droṇa have fallen. By his very nature, Righteousness walks with the son of Dharma and stands against my child. Alas, cruel Time cannot be overcome. What men reckon in wisdom turns otherwise by Destiny. Therefore, recount to me, O Sañjaya, all that befell in this inevitable calamity, dreadful and sorrow-laden, which we cannot cross.”
“So spoke the king with failing breath,
Naming the Lord who shields from loss;
He faced the tide of fate and death,
And bowed his grief before the Cross of Kṛṣṇa.”
Sañjaya said:
“Yes, O King,” said Sañjaya, his voice steady yet touched with sorrow, “I beheld it all with my own eyes — the fall of Droṇa, son of Bharadvāja, slain by the Pāṇḍavas and the Śṛñjayas. Hear now how it came to pass.”
Having assumed command of the Kaurava host after the fall of Bhīṣma, that mighty car-warrior and preceptor of all princes addressed your son amidst the gathered troops, his voice grave as the roll of a war-drum:
‘Since, O King, thou hast honoured me with the leadership of thy armies after the fall of that bull among men, the son of the Ocean-going Gaṅgā, receive now the fruit of thy faith. Ask of me, Duryodhana, what task thou wouldst have me accomplish; name the boon thou desirest.’
Then Duryodhana, after conferring with Karṇa, Duḥśāsana, and other lords of men, spoke eagerly to the invincible preceptor, the foremost of victors:
‘If thou wouldst indeed grant me a boon, O best of Brahmanas, then seize alive that foremost of car-warriors — Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma — and bring him hither to me.’
Hearing these words, Droṇa smiled faintly and replied in tones that gladdened the assembled troops:
‘Blessed is Kuntī’s son, whose capture only thou seekest and not his death. Thou, O tiger among men, askest not to slay him — why so? Surely, O Duryodhana, thou knowest the subtleties of policy. Yet thou desirest not Yudhiṣṭhira’s life to end. Either thou seekest thus to preserve thy line from extinction, or, vanquishing them in battle, thou wouldst afterward restore their kingdom and make peace. Auspicious indeed was the birth of that prince, the just and gentle king. Truly is he named Ajātaśatru, the Foeless One — for even thou, his foe, wouldst keep him alive.’
Thus spoke Droṇa. And as he spoke, the secret thought of your son revealed itself like a fire shining through thin cloth — for no cunning, not even that of Bṛhaspati, can wholly conceal the heart’s intent.
With joy unmasked, Duryodhana answered, his voice eager:
‘By the death of Kuntī’s son, O preceptor, victory cannot be mine. If Yudhiṣṭhira falls, then Pārtha will surely slay us all. Even the gods could not withstand them united. But if Yudhiṣṭhira be captured alive and once again defeated at dice, the sons of Pāṇḍu, obedient to him, will again retire to the forests. Such a triumph would endure. Therefore I do not seek his death, but his capture!’
Then Droṇa, wise in the science of statecraft, pondered awhile, perceiving the crookedness of Duryodhana’s design. At length, he spoke again, granting the boon but narrowing its path with condition:
“If heroic Arjuna protect not Yudhiṣṭhira in battle, then mayest thou, O king, count him as already thy prisoner. But know this — neither gods nor Asuras, even with Indra at their head, can advance against Pārtha and prevail. I cannot, therefore, promise more. Arjuna is my pupil, yet young, fortunate, and fierce in purpose. He has obtained divine weapons from Indra and Rudra, and thou hast stung him by thy insults. I dare not undertake to subdue Yudhiṣṭhira while Arjuna stands guard beside him. Remove Pārtha from the field by any means — by stratagem or ruse. When he is gone, the eldest son of Dharma will be within thy grasp.
“Victory lies in Yudhiṣṭhira’s capture, not his slaughter. If Dhanañjaya is withdrawn, then will I seize that truthful king and bring him to thy presence this very day — provided he remains before me for but a moment. But in the sight of Arjuna, not even the gods could take Yudhiṣṭhira alive.”