novelraw Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 5 - Samsaptakas led Arjuna away
Arc 1 - Droṇābhiṣeka Parva - Chapter 5 - Samsaptakas led Arjuna away
Sañjaya said:
Beholding thy army broken and scattered like clouds torn by the wind, the valiant Vṛṣasena, son of Karṇa, stood forth alone, his bow flashing like a serpent of flame. Then, O King, he displayed wondrous illusions of weapons, shooting arrows in thousands that coursed through the air like rays of the burning sun.
Men and steeds and elephants fell pierced and mangled;
the sky grew dark with shafts, the earth bright with blood.
That single warrior, resolute and fearless,
seemed like Rudra himself raging among trembling hosts.
Then all the kings of the Pāṇḍava army, uniting together, surrounded Vṛṣasena on every side. Satanika, son of Nakula, rushed first, striking Karṇa’s son with ten keen arrows. But Vṛṣasena, cutting off his bow, brought down his standard, and the prince’s pride was humbled.
Beholding this, the sons of Draupadī, burning with wrath, sped forward to rescue their brother, their shafts falling thick as rain. For a moment, Karṇa’s son vanished beneath their arrows, hidden as the moon behind a storm-cloud.
Then from the Kaurava lines, many heroes—Aśvatthāman, son of Droṇa, at their head—rushed forward, covering the sons of Draupadī with a tempest of shafts. Like monsoon clouds loosing torrents upon a mountain, they drenched the princes in steel.
From love of their sons, the five brothers themselves advanced.
The clash that followed, O King, was fierce beyond words—
like the war of gods and Dānavas at the dawn of creation,
where light and darkness strove in equal might.
Then the field shone with furious splendour—
with Bhīma and Karṇa, Kṛpa, Droṇa, Aśvatthāman, Dhṛṣṭadyumna, and Sātyaki
raging like suns at the end of time.
The noise of bow and conch and shattering car-wheels
filled heaven and earth with dreadful harmony.
Yudhiṣṭhira’s host, roaring like a rising sea,
pressed forward, scattering thy broken troops.
Droṇa beheld his army faltering and cried aloud:
“Stand, ye heroes! Fly not from the field!”
Then, with steeds red as fire and anger blazing in his eyes, the son of Bharadvāja drove into the Pāṇḍava ranks, his car whirling like a storm-cloud, and rushed straight against Yudhiṣṭhira.
The righteous king met him with a volley of arrows feathered with Kanka plumes, but Droṇa cut Yudhiṣṭhira’s bow in twain and came thundering on. The prince Kumāra of the Pañcālas, guardian of the king’s car-wheels, moved to meet the storm, as the shore resists the sea.
Kumāra struck Droṇa in the breast and shouted with the voice of a lion.
Then, swift and tireless, he poured a thousand arrows on the preceptor.
But the mighty sage, calm and terrible,
slew him with a single shaft—
the young hero fell, his vows and life fulfilled.
Then Droṇa, wheeling his car, struck down all about him—
Śikhaṇḍin with twelve arrows, Uttamaujas with twenty,
Nakula with five, Sahadeva with seven,
Yudhiṣṭhira with twelve, each son of Draupadī with three,
Sātyaki with five, and the Matsya lord with ten.
Thus he smote all directions like a flaming wheel of death.
Desiring still the capture of the king, he pressed forward once more, till Yugandhara, brave prince of the Pāñcālas, barred his way like a mountain wall. But the invincible Droṇa pierced Yudhiṣṭhira again and, with a broad-headed shaft, felled Yugandhara lifeless from his car.
Then rose a storm of valor—
Virāṭa, Drupada, the Kekaya princes, Sātyaki, Śivi, Vyaghradata, and Siṃhasena,
all closed in to save their king.
Arrows flashed in floods till the field seemed roofed with fire.
Vyaghradata pierced Droṇa with fifty shafts;
Siṃhasena, roaring in joy, followed with more.
Then the wrath of the preceptor blazed forth.
He smote both princes’ heads from their trunks,
the earrings flashing as they fell,
and his arrows poured again like the endless rain of Time.
Standing before Yudhiṣṭhira’s car, Droṇa shone like Death himself, his bowstring ringing, his eyes red as molten copper.
Thy soldiers shouted in fierce delight:
“The king is slain! Duryodhana’s victory is won!
Droṇa hath seized Yudhiṣṭhira!”
But in that very moment, a rumble filled the field—
the roll of Arjuna’s chariot wheels.
Through the darkening smoke he came,
the banner of the great ape high against the sky,
and where he passed there spread a river of blood,
its eddies chariots, its fish the whirling spears,
its waves the fallen, its foam the flashing arrows.
The wielder of Gāṇḍīva crossed that river swiftly, and with a storm of shafts covered Droṇa’s divisions. None could see the interval between his drawing and loosing— the sky, the earth, and the quarters vanished in a veil of arrows. Then, as though the very heavens pitied the slain, the sun set, hidden by a cloud of dust.
Friend and foe could no longer know one another.
Darkness fell upon the field.
Droṇa and Duryodhana ordered their troops withdrawn.
Seeing the foe unwilling to continue,
Arjuna too recalled his forces.
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The Pāṇḍavas, the Śṛñjayas, and the Pañcālas praised Pārtha with voices of joy, as the Ṛṣis praise the Sun when the storm has passed. Victorious, Dhanañjaya returned to his tent, Kṛṣṇa beside him on the reins.
And there, on his chariot adorned with gems and gold, the son of Pāṇḍu shone like the moon rising amid a heaven bright with stars— the night calm after the thunder of war.
Sañjaya said:
The Samsaptakas, their hearts elated with battle-fury, stood in proud array upon the open plain, their chariots forming the shape of a half-moon. Those tigers among men, beholding the diademed Arjuna advancing toward them, roared with joy like lions greeting the dawn. The tumult of their shouts filled the heavens and the quarters of the world, resounding without echo across that level field where men alone covered the ground.
Beholding them thus exulting in the face of death, Dhanañjaya smiled gently and said unto Kṛṣṇa,
“Behold, O Kṛṣṇa, thou son of Devakī divine,
The Trigarta lords rejoice in doom’s design.
They smile who should weep, O wielder of might—
For joy is the herald of death in their sight.
Or perhaps they rejoice, O Keśava strong,
For cowards win not where the brave belong—
To those bright worlds that valour attains,
These warriors speed, freed from life’s chains.”
Thus speaking to the mighty-armed Hṛṣīkeśa, Arjuna advanced upon the Trigarta host. Lifting his conch Devadatta, shining with gold, he blew it with great force. Its sound rolled through heaven and earth, quivering like thunder in the vault of the sky.
Terrified by that blare, the Samsaptakas stood as if turned to stone. Their horses stopped mid-step, their eyes bulging wide; the necks and ears of elephants stiffened; men and beasts trembled, vomiting blood and water in dread. But regaining their senses, they swiftly dressed their ranks and loosed a thousand arrows together at the son of Pāṇḍu.
Yet Arjuna, master of immeasurable skill, with but fifteen arrows, cut off those thousands in midair before they reached him. Then the warriors of Trigarta pierced him, each with ten shafts, and he, in turn, struck each with three. Again they showered him with arrows, countless as the drops of monsoon rain, their clouds of steel beating upon Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa like storms upon a tranquil lake.
Arrows fell thick as bees in swarms,
Buzzing about a flowering form;
Gold-feathered, bright, their courses met,
Around the ape-bannered chariot set.
The shafts struck Arjuna’s diadem; thirty barbed arrows of golden wings flashed thereon. His crown gleamed radiant like the rising sun surrounded by rays of fire.
Then the son of Indra, fierce in wrath, cut with a broad-headed shaft the leathern fence of Suvāhu, and covering Sudharman and Sudhanvan with a flood of arrows, he pierced Suvāhu again with ten keen points. The ape-bannered hero smote them all in return, cutting down their golden standards. With swift shafts he shattered Sudhanvan’s bow, slew his steeds, and with another arrow shore away his head, the turbaned skull falling like a star from heaven.
When that warrior fell, terror seized his ranks; panic swept them, and they fled towards Duryodhana’s lines. Then the son of Vāsava, blazing with fury, poured incessant showers of arrows, destroying the foe as the sun dispels darkness with unending rays.
The Trigarta host, broken and scattered, trembled with fear. Their bows slackened, their minds confounded, they stood dazed like deer before the hunter’s net. Then their king, his eyes red with rage, called aloud:
“Fly not, ye heroes, stand and fight!
Recall your vows, your warrior right!
What shall we say to Duryodhana’s pride,
If we return in shame, unsatisfied?
Better to die than live disgraced—
Face Death, O kings, be not effaced!”
Thus urged, they rallied once more. Raising their conchs and banners, the Samsaptakas shouted aloud, gladdening one another, their hearts hardened with resolve.
Once more they wheeled their cars and turned back to the field,
marching with the Nārāyaṇa cowherds,
their faces set like men who had taken Death himself
as their chosen lord and companion.
Sañjaya said:
The Samsaptakas, filled with fierce joy, took their stand upon a wide and level plain. Their chariots formed an array shaped like a crescent moon, glittering beneath the morning sun. Those tigers among men, beholding the diadem-decked Arjuna approaching like a rising storm, shouted with exultation, their cries filling the heavens and the quarters of the world. Because the plain was open and covered only with men, their roaring rose unbroken, without echo, rolling like the voice of the sea.
Perceiving them thus delighted in the face of death, Dhanañjaya turned to Kṛṣṇa, the son of Devakī, and said with a quiet smile:
“Behold, O Keśava, these sons of Trigarta,
Who march to their end rejoicing!
They laugh when they should lament,
For the hour of their joy is the hour of death.
Yet perhaps they rejoice indeed,
Since to them now draw near
Those luminous realms of the brave,
Unseen by the hearts of cowards.”
Having spoken thus, the son of Pāṇḍu, taking up his mighty conch Devadatta decked with gold, blew it with all his strength. The sound spread through the worlds, filling the sky and the sea, the forests and the plains, trembling through the hearts of men and beasts alike.
Terrified by that blare, the host of Samsaptakas stood motionless as if turned to stone. Their eyes widened, their lips and limbs stiffened, and the animals yoked to their chariots stood rigid with fear, urinating and vomiting blood. But soon they rallied, dressed their ranks anew, and in one mighty volley, loosed their arrows against the son of Pāṇḍu.
Yet Arjuna, master of unfailing aim and godlike speed, cut off those thousands of arrows with but fifteen of his own before they could reach him. Then each warrior struck him with ten shafts, and he pierced them each in return with three. Again they wounded him with five arrows each, and he, in turn, answered with two to every man.
But then, enraged, the Samsaptakas poured their shafts upon Arjuna and Keśava like rain-clouds bursting upon a lake.
Arrows fell thick as bees in flight,
Swarming round a forest bloom;
Gold-feathered, swift, and sharp as light,
They filled the sky with fiery gloom.
Thirty shafts struck Arjuna’s diadem, flashing with golden wings and adamantine heads. His crown blazed like the newborn sun rising above the world.
Then, with a broad-headed arrow, the son of Indra cut off the leathern fence of Suvāhu, covering Sudharman and Sudhanvan in a storm of shafts. Suvāhu pierced him back with ten arrows, but Arjuna, bearing the ape upon his banner, struck them all in return, shattering their golden standards. He cut the bow of Sudhanvan, slew his steeds, and then, with a swift shaft, lopped off his head, still bound with its turban.
When that hero fell, terror seized his followers, and they fled in panic toward Duryodhana’s host. Then the son of Vāsava, his wrath blazing, rained incessant arrows upon that mighty army, as the sun dispels darkness with its ceaseless rays.
The Trigartas, broken and bewildered, trembled with fear. Struck down by Partha’s straight shafts, they stood dazed and motionless, like a herd of deer before a lion’s charge.
Then their king, inflamed with rage, cried out to his men:
“Fly not, O heroes! Stand your ground!
Let not fear undo your fame.
We swore before all men this vow—
Shall we return in shame?
Better to die than live disgraced;
The brave win heaven’s eternal light.
Stand firm, O warriors of Trigarta,
And meet your fate with hearts of might!”
Thus rallied by their lord, the Samsaptakas blew their conchs and raised their banners high. Shouting loud to gladden one another, they turned again toward the field— those fierce warriors of the Nārāyaṇa cowherds, advancing once more, resolved to face Death himself in battle.
Sañjaya said:
Beholding the Samsaptakas return once more to the field, Arjuna spoke unto the high-souled Vāsudeva, saying:
“Urge the steeds, O Hṛṣīkeśa,
Against the sons of Trigarta now!
Alive they shall not leave this field—
Such is my vow, such is my will.
This day thou shalt behold, O Kṛṣṇa,
The terrible might of my arms and bow;
As Rudra, at the world’s end hour,
Slays all that breathe, so shall I mow.”
Hearing these words, Kṛṣṇa, invincible in might, smiled gently. Gladdening Arjuna with auspicious speech, he guided the white steeds whither the son of Pāṇḍu wished to go.
That chariot, radiant with celestial splendour, moved over the field like Indra’s own car in the war between gods and Asuras of old. Swift as thought, it wheeled and turned, gliding forward and back, circling and darting through the host in dazzling arcs of motion.
Then the Nārāyaṇas, fierce in wrath and armed with weapons of every kind, surrounded Dhanañjaya and showered upon him arrows thick as rain. Soon the son of Kuntī and Keśava became invisible, shrouded beneath that storm of shafts.
Wrath blazed within Phālguna’s breast. With tightened brow and kindled fire in his eyes, he grasped Gāṇḍīva, rubbed its string, and blew his great conch Devadatta, whose thunder shook the heavens. Then he invoked the weapon of Tvaṣṭṛ, destroyer of multitudes.
At once, thousands of forms of Arjuna and Vāsudeva sprang into being upon the field. Confounded by those countless images, the warriors smote one another, each mistaking his own ally for the foe.
“This is Arjuna!” cried one host;
“That is Govinda!” shouted the other.
Each slew his brother, seeing a god—
And Yama smiled upon their slaughter.
Deprived of sense by that mighty weapon, they destroyed one another in madness. The battlefield shone red as a forest of blooming kiṃśukas, its petals the blood of kings.
Then Vibhatsu, laughing, loosed a storm of arrows that crushed the Lālitthas, Mālavas, Māvellakas, and Trigartas all together. Urged by fate, those Kṣatriyas perished beneath his ceaseless shafts. Still they poured their arrows upon him, hiding Arjuna, his car, and Kṛṣṇa from sight.
Thinking the two Kṛṣṇas slain, the Samsaptakas shouted with joy. They waved their garments, blew conchs, beat drums and cymbals, and filled the sky with leonine roars.
Then Kṛṣṇa, covered with sweat and faint from the storm of arrows, called aloud:
“Where art thou, O Pārtha? I see thee not!
Art thou alive, O slayer of foes?”
Hearing this, Dhanañjaya, swift as the wind itself, invoked the Vāyavya Astra. Instantly the mighty wind-god arose upon the field, scattering the Samsaptakas with their steeds, elephants, chariots, and weapons, as dry leaves are swept away by a tempest.
Through the air they whirled like birds,
Their banners torn, their helmets hurled;
A hurricane of men and steel,
Blown wide upon the crimson world.
Then Arjuna rained his arrows upon them like Death himself. Heads and hands fell together; thighs great as elephant trunks were severed; bodies lay hewn and tangled upon the ground.
Cars decked with gold burst apart, their riders slain; steeds and elephants rolled like mountains split by Indra’s bolt; and the field was strewn with broken mail, banners, and mangled limbs.
The very dust of battle was washed away by showers of blood, and the earth became impassable, choked with headless corpses. The car of Vibhatsu blazed forth amid the carnage like the chariot of Rudra at the world’s end, when Time devours creation.
Still the Samsaptakas, though perishing by hundreds, pressed forward upon him—
valiant yet doomed, rushing toward heaven through the gate of death.
The plain of Kurukṣetra shone dreadful and red,
A pasture of souls for Yama’s tread;
With chariots shattered, elephants downed,
And heroes’ spirits around it bound.
Meanwhile, as Arjuna raged among the Samsaptakas, Droṇa, leading his well-arrayed divisions, advanced swiftly upon Yudhiṣṭhira. Many great warriors followed him, their hearts set on seizing the king.
And then, O Bhārata, there arose a battle fierce beyond measure—
terrible as the conflict of gods and demons at the dawn of time.